Table of Contents

- CHAPTER I

- CHAPTER II

- CHAPTER III

- CHAPTER IV

- CHAPTER V

- CHAPTER VI

- CHAPTER VII

- CHAPTER VIII

- CHAPTER IX

- CHAPTER X

- CHAPTER XI

- CHAPTER XII

- CHAPTER XIII

- CHAPTER XIV

- CHAPTER XV

- CHAPTER XVI

- CHAPTER XVII

- CHAPTER XVIII

- CHAPTER XIX

- CHAPTER XX

- CHAPTER XXI

- CHAPTER XXII

- CHAPTER XXIII

- CHAPTER XXIV

- CHAPTER XXV

- CHAPTER XXVI

- CHAPTER XXVII

- CHAPTER XXVIII

- CHAPTER XXIX

- CHAPTER XXX

William Murray Graydon

The Mystery of Valentine Stanlock
or
The Secret of Crag Island

CHAPTER I

It was late on the afternoon of the last day of the year. The weather was clear and cold. The day before, rain had followed a heavy snowfall, and now, as the final glimmer of the sun shone on the winding road that led from the summit of Knob Hill to the village of Mehoopany, the scene was dazzling and blinding to the eyes.

The crusted roads and fields flashed back the rosy light, and the branches of pine and spruce trees, borne downward by their weight of clinging snow, gleamed like burnished metal.

On the south slope of Knob Hill, just off the road, stood the little brick schoolhouse. On opposite sides of the covered porch, with hands deep in their pockets and coats buttoned close to their chins, sat Toke Forster and his friend Curt Blake.

Each had the ruddy cheeks and muscular build that comes from out-door existence among Pennsylvania hills. Each had seen seventeen years of life, though both looked somewhat older.

John Tokeman Forster and Alfred Curtis Blake were the full names of these two lads, but their companions, with the fondness that boys have for crisp-sounding words, had long since shortened them to Toke and Curt. The latter's father was a farmer in moderate circumstances, living near the village, and Mr. Forster kept a general store down in Mehoopany.

"I wish it was this time to-morrow," said Toke, smiling at his companion. "Don't you?"

Curt smiled back.

"Yes. It won't seem long, though. Ah, here he comes!"

Valentine Stanlock, the schoolmaster, stepped out on the porch, closing and locking the door behind him.

He looked scarcely older than the two boys who were waiting for him—in fact, there was but two years' difference in their ages—and his neat dress and pleasing, refined features showed plainly that he was not country-born and bred.

His face lighted up at sight of the boys and he dropped the bundle of books he was carrying to shake their hands.

"Well, this is a surprise! It's almost a month since I've seen either of you. Why didn't you come inside, instead of sitting out here in the cold? I was only writing a couple of letters. I've been coming up here nearly every afternoon during the Christmas holidays. I build a wood fire in the stove and read or write until it grows too dark to see. I'm taking some books home with me to-night, for you know school reopens day after to-morrow, and I must brush up a little."

"Oh, we didn't mind the cold!" said Toke. "And we had not been waiting long either. We were over at Squire Petit's for you, and he told us where you were. We saw you writing through the window, and thought we'd better not disturb you."

There was an utter lack of formality in their manners and speech as the three friends trudged side by side toward the village.

The young schoolmaster was himself a boy at heart. Toke and Curt had been his pupils during the school year that ended the previous spring, and a warm comradeship had sprung up between them, further cemented by camping and fishing trips made during the past summer. The former relations of pupil and teacher were now only a pleasant memory.

As they went on down the hill, picking out the safest places in the frozen path, Toke said, abruptly:

"You don't look very well, Val. Anything wrong?"

A brief shadow flitted over Val's face.

"No, not exactly," he answered. "I have been feeling a little out of sorts this week, that's a fact. Perhaps the new year will brace me up," he added, with a laugh. "It begins to-morrow, you know."

Curt fancied he could detect a false ring in Val's mirth, and glanced at him keenly.

"We are going away to-morrow, Toke and I," he said. "That's what we wanted to tell you."

"Going away?" queried Val, with animation. "Where?"

"Well, it's just this way," replied Curt. "You remember that when school stopped last spring, Toke and I spoke about going to the Bloomsburg Academy for a few terms?"

"Yes, I remember distinctly," replied Val. "In fact, I advised you to do it, and pretty nearly got myself into hot water with your parents, too," he reminded, pleasantly. "They insisted that because a district school education was sufficient for them, it ought to be for you. I didn't think so then, and I don't think so now. You two boys were remarkably bright about picking up what little I could teach you, and you really ought to have more advantages."

"And we stand a fair chance of getting them," said Curt. "Toke and I have been bringing the matter up at our homes at every opportunity; and, what's more, we have worked pretty hard all fall and managed to lay up a few dollars apiece. So now my father is going to give us a show. You know he owns a big tract of timber-land back in Sullivan County, about twenty miles from here. Well, he wants to market some of it if he can, and he got it into his head that the logs could be floated down from the head-waters of Mehoopany Creek during the spring freshets. Father talked to old Torpetus Macbean, the trapper, who has just come back from his winter hunting trip, and he thought the idea was a good one. So father made arrangements with him to go back into the woods for a month or so and take Toke and me along. We're to pick out and blaze all the suitable trees that lie within easy reach of the head-waters of the creek, and some time in February or March a gang of men will come up and cut them down. Father is going to pay us for our work, of course, but we have a still better way of making money. It is an awfully wild country back there, you know, and small game is plenty, so we are going to trap muskrat and mink and foxes and sell the skins. Torpetus Macbean used to do lots of it when he was younger, and he knows all about it. He will provide the traps and show us the places, and, of course, he will get part of the profits. We count on making enough with what we already have—or nearly enough—to see us through a year at the academy."

"And my father says that if I don't have as much as I need, he will make up the balance," said Toke, eagerly. "He is changing his mind since he sees that my heart is set on getting a little more education."

"I can't tell you how glad I am to hear all this," replied Val; and his face shone with genuine satisfaction as, he spoke. "You deserve to succeed and I am sure you will. I envy you boys your outing in the woods; I do, indeed."

He glanced ruefully at the books he was carrying.

"I only wish you were going along," said Curt: "Torpetus has a snug little cabin on the shore of White Deer Pond, and it's quite in the wilderness. No house within ten miles. Oh, by-the-way, Val, we are going to take a Latin grammar and reader along, and some other school-books, and study hard in the evenings."

"That is a good plan," approved Val. "Mark all the knotty places that you stick at, and when you return we'll straighten them out together. But are you going to-morrow—so soon?"

"Oh, we have been getting ready for two weeks," answered Toke. "Curt's traps are all down at our house, and he is going to spend the night with me, so we can make an early start in the morning."

Absorbed in conversation, the boys had taken no account of time or distance, and now they were surprised to find themselves at the cross roads where they must separate, for Squire Petit, with whom Val boarded, lived a mile north of the village.

Good wishes and regrets were exchanged, and hands were shaken warmly. Then with a final good-by, Toke and Curt trudged down the snowy road toward the village.

Little did either of the boys dream under what circumstances they and the young schoolmaster were next destined to meet.

Val lingered a moment to watch his retreating companions. Then he turned slowly into another road that led at a right angle to the one they had taken.

Twilight was falling, and a purplish mist overhung the little village of Mehoopany, half a mile distant. Beyond it a faint, rosy light shone on the broad bosom of the Susquehanna as it roiled seaward between the rugged Wyoming hills.

Even as Val looked, the light was blotted out by a misty grayness. He turned up his coat collar and quickened his pace. And while he is traveling homeward through the frosty night, what little the good folks of Mehoopany knew about Valentine Stanlock shall be imparted to the reader. It is, indeed, little.

He came to the village a year and a half before the opening of this story, and made application for the vacant teachership of the district school.

Some of the directors were opposed to him on account of his youth, but the influence of Squire Petit overcame this objection, and as an examination proved Val's education to be above the usually required standard of a country schoolmaster, he was chosen to fill the vacancy.

As time went on, Val was well liked by the neighbors and by his pupils. In spite of his slight build he was not lacking in muscular powers or determination, as he showed plainly on the occasion of several incipient outbreaks in the school-room. His vigorous handling of the unruly boys gained him immunity from future trouble.

In spite of his natural refinement and air of reserve, there was nothing "stuck up" about him, a fact which was quickly recognized and appreciated.

The more observant of the elder people with whom Val was brought in contact came to the conclusion in course of time that he had experienced some deep trouble in the past. The origin for this belief may have been the slightly melancholy cast of Val's features, or the fact that he was fond of taking long and solitary walks in the forest. At all events, it came to be a commonly accepted fact in Mehoopany that there was a mystery about Valentine Stanlock's past life, though none were so ill-bred as to attempt to probe it.

Val and Squire Petit were on terms of close intimacy. But if the squire knew all about the young schoolmaster—which he probably did—he kept his own counsel.

It was commonly understood that Val's home was "down the river," a rather indefinite phrase, as the distance from Mehoopany to the mouth of the Susquehanna was all of two hundred and fifty miles.

CHAPTER II

When Val parted from his companions, he followed a much-traveled wagon-road that led straight to within a field's breadth of Mehoopany Creek, and then turned sharply, continuing on parallel with the right bank of the stream.

At the turn Val slipped through a gap in the fence and struck across the field by a faintly-marked path, which led to a narrow foot-bridge over the creek, and thence on to Squire Petit's farmhouse.

It was quite dark when he reached, the creek, and the bridge looked a black, unshapely object against the horizon. It was an odd-shaped bridge, even in broad daylight. It consisted of a narrow plank-walk, with a hand rail on each side, and was arched like a camel's back.

It was approached on both sides by a flight of twelve steps, and was supported in midstream by two A-shaped piers of heavy timber. A similar pier stood on each bank. The bridge was built high to secure it from floods.

It had been erected by Squire Petit and other farmers residing on the left bank of the creek, in order that their children might have a direct route to the schoolhouse, and not be compelled to go around by Mehoopany, for the village lay half a mile below the bridge.

The darkness meant nothing to Val, for he knew every inch of the way. He ascended the steps and walked rapidly across the bridge. He kept one hand on the rail, for the planks were covered with frozen snow, and it would be an easy matter to slip off into the creek.

When he reached the centre of the bridge, he stopped and looked down. The dark water reflected the stars overhead as it flowed sluggishly toward the river. Now and then the reflection was dimmed as a patch of slush ice drifted by.

As Val was about to move on, the still air brought to his ears the low murmur of voices, accompanied by a sharp, rasping noise. The sound came from down stream, and was no great distance off.

Straining his eyes into the gloom, Val fancied that he saw a couple of men standing on the opposite shore of the creek, about ten yards below the bridge. As he looked, his belief was confirmed.

The men moved to the edge of the water and vanished for an instant. Then he saw a dark blot on the surface of the creek and heard the quick, steady dip of paddles. A boat was coming up stream.

Val's first impulse was to walk carelessly on. But a second thought checked him. What could a boat be doing on the creek at this time of night? Why had the men landed where they did? He knew that no boat was kept there. And why should they be paddling up stream, away from the village? The Mehoopany folks did no fishing in the winter time.

It was a very strange proceeding, to say the least, and Val was quick to suspect some covert design on the part of these unknown navigators.

More from a desire to keep his presence a secret than from the hope of learning anything, he laid his books down and stretched himself crosswise on the bridge, with his head and shoulders protruding over one side and his feet over the other. In the darkness he hoped to escape observation.

The boat lunged forward under the muscular paddle-strokes, first heading obliquely for mid current and then coming straight up stream. Val could now make out the two occupants, one sitting in the stern, the other a foot or two ahead of him.

As the canoe—for such Val discovered it to be—reached the shadow of the bridge, the man in front dropped his paddle, and said, aloud:

"Keep her going, Gabe. I want to light my pipe."

The other made a few strokes of the paddle to one side and drove the nose of the craft into the sandy soil at the base of the nearest pier.

"I think I'll light a cigar myself," he remarked. "No risk about smoking, I suppose—eh, Swart?"

"Risk? Not a bit! The good folks are all snug about their kitchen fires," continued the speaker, in a tone of contempt. "I'll tell you one thing, though, Gabe. If we have occasion to make any more trips down here, we'll land above this bridge, and not below it. It ain't used much, I reckon, but then there's always more or less danger, even in the night time."

"Yes, that's a good idea," rejoined his companion. "As to coming down here again, I think it likely we will. It's the most convenient direction, and there are no settlements along the way. Besides, look at the stream. Navigable for ten miles, and only an eight-mile tramp over the mountains. In any other direction, we would have to walk the whole way. It was a lucky find, this canoe."

"Yes," assented the other, "you're right there. Hand me a match, Gabe, will you?"

This request was silently complied with. A second later a bright flash lit up the gloom. Val was almost directly over the canoe, and looked down with growing wonder. The burning match lit up the scene for a radius of several yards.

"Val looked down with growing wonder"

What he saw was this: Two men, coarsely but comfortably dressed, the one of heavy build, with a bushy red moustache and beard; the other of lighter weight, with a stubbly black growth on his cheeks and upper lip.. In the forepart of the canoe lay a gun and a heap of bundles, wrapped in whitey-brown paper. The man with the stubbly black beard was Gabe, for he held a cigar in his hand. He lighted it from the burning end of his companion's match, and as he puffed the tiny flame went out, leaving two little red specks glowing in the darkness.

Val was puzzled by what he had overheard. He wished the men would move on, for he was getting cramped and cold.

But they were not quite ready. They went on talking in low, inaudible tones, and presently one said in a louder voice:

"You still have hopes of finding it, Gabe?"

"Finding it," replied the other. "Yes, I'll find it if it takes ten years. You see, it was a dark night, Swart," he went on, "and mid-winter at that, and I haven't the least idea if I was near White Deer Pond or Long Pond. I had lost my way in the snow-storm that afternoon, and was all turned around. I remember the landmark, though; for just before I got rid of the box I tripped over something, and, when I struck a match to get my bearings again, I saw those three trees in a row, and just below them the big, flat rock, with a hollow in the upper surface. I stepped aside to avoid it, and down I went in water up to my waist. Ugh! I shiver yet to think of it."

There was a slight interval of silence.

"It's only a matter of time, then," replied Swart, "and you'll have that in plenty. It was lucky you picked up that paper while we were waiting in the store. I wondered what was wrong when I saw you give a start."

"Lucky! It was more than lucky," rejoined the other. "It means freedom and safety. It means that these bloodhounds of the law are off my track; that I can sleep at night without dreaming of a checked suit and a ball and chain. The world believes I am in my grave; you and one other know the truth. And, by- the-way, Swart, you must stop calling me Gabe—even when we are alone. It won't do."

"All right; I'll try to remember," muttered his companion. "But let's start, we have a long paddle ahead of us."

Overhead, on the narrow bridge, Val was breathing in short, quick gasps.

"Oh", for one more look at their faces!" he whispered, inwardly. "But the voice is his—I am sure of it. Thank Providence for bringing me out here on the bridge to-night. A few minutes ago the future was black as midnight, and now—"

Val's self-communing came to a sudden end. His hat slipped from his head, and he grabbed at it so quickly with both hands that he lost his balance. He tried to recover himself, but it was too late. He plunged head first off the icy planks, and struck the water sideways within two feet of the canoe, which had just been shoved free of the pier.

The chilling shock blunted Val's sensibilities for an instant, but, when the swift current had borne him a short distance down stream, he gained a foothold on the slippery, bottom and stood up, with the water surging about his hips. He glanced behind him. The canoe had been turned about, and was coming in pursuit.

Val was not slow to realize his peril. A few yards below, and midway between where he stood and the opposite shore, was a small island—an oblong strip of sand and scrubby bushes.

He made for this with quick strides. As he advanced, the water grew shallow, until it sank to his knees. He staggered out on the sand and plunged toward the shelter of the bushes.

A hoarse cry rang in his ears, but he dashed on, without pausing to look behind, and crossed the ridge in half a dozen leaps. A course of brawling riffles now separated him from the desired shore. He ran to the lower point of the island, and, as he re-entered the water, the furious beat of paddles warned him that his pursuers were parallel with him, though on the other side of the bar. Fortunately the water was shallow, and by the aid of the stones that rose here and there above the surface, he made more rapid progress than he had dared to hope.

He pushed on, leaping from rock to rock and splashing noisily through the riffles. Nearer and nearer loomed the timber-line of the bank, and, as his feet touched the gravel shore, a sharp report rang behind him and something whistled by his ear.

The next instant Val was in the shelter of the bushes. He climbed on up the bank, and gained the edge of the open field. All was quiet behind him, but he did not delay to see what had become of the enemy. He started off on a run, and never stopped until he reached the farmhouse.

Supper was over and the squire had gone down to the village.

"I don't want anything to eat, Mrs. Petit; indeed I don't," protested Val. "I'm not a bit hungry. I was so unlucky as to slip off the bridge into the creek, and I'd better go right up and put on dry clothes."

As soon as he was within the seclusion of his own room, Val's manner changed. Emotions of joy and deep perplexity chased each other over his face as he tore off his wet garments and put on his other suit.

The run over the fields had kept his blood in brisk circulation, and he felt no ill effects from his cold bath.

He donned his best hat and a heavy overcoat, and, slipping out of the house by the back door, started down the road toward Mehoopany.

On reaching the village, instinct led him straight to the post office, which was also a store for the sale of groceries and produce.

Mr. Barton, the proprietor, was just putting up his shutters. Val requested some paper and a pack of envelopes, and while they were being wrapped up, he casually glanced over the papers that lay on the counter, for Mr. Barton was a subscriber to several county journals, and to one Philadelphia paper, which came weekly.

The latter was the first to attract Val's attention, and, as he ran his eye's down the columns he gave a barely perceptible start.

The cause of his agitation was the following paragraph:

"The body that was found in the Delaware yesterday was positively identified by the prison authorities this morning as Gabriel Riderhood, the convict, who escaped from the penitentiary three weeks ago. He still wore the prison jacket under his coat, and on his person was found the chisel with which he is supposed to have cut his way to freedom. The convict Hemp, who escaped at the same time, is still at large. He is believed to have left the country."

With a strong effort Val mastered the inclination to cry out. Assuming an expression of unconcern, he drew a letter from his pocket and took from its folds a small newspaper clipping.

He compared it with the paragraph before him. They were identically the same. The date of Mr. Barton's paper was December 27.

Val restored the letter and clipping to his pocket. He mechanically picked up his purchase and paid for it, and, as he was passing out of the store, Mr. Barton said, abruptly:

"Have you seen the two strangers that came to the village this evening, Val? They were in here an hour or so ago, buying supplies. Odd looking customers, I should call them."

Val turned white.

"I—I believe I did see them, Mr. Barton," he replied, evasively.

Then he hurriedly left the store and walked quickly through the deserted village. He took a circuitous route home, going up the left bank of the creek to the foot-bridge, where he found his books undisturbed. Nothing was to be seen of the canoe or its occupants.

It was nine o'clock when Val reached the farmhouse, but he had no thought of retiring yet. The family were in bed, with the exception of the squire, who was reading in the dining-room. This was the opportunity Val had hoped to find, and for an hour the two carried on a whispered and significant conversation, in which the newspaper clipping took a leading part.

Then Val bade the squire good-night and went to his own room, where he spent another hour in writing two letters—one short and the other very long.

He addressed and stamped them, and rose wearily to his feet.

"It is too late to retreat now," he said aloud, as he began to prepare for bed. "I have put my hand to the plow and must keep it there. My business now is to follow this fortunate discovery to a successful end—if possible."

CHAPTER III

At the first glimmer of daybreak on New Year's morning—an hour or so before the village was thrown into a flurry of excitement by the discovery of an empty canoe lodged on a gravel bar near the mouth of the creek—a big, ungainly sleigh, drawn by two powerful horses, started up the winding street, wakening light sleepers by its jingling bells.

The sleigh was heaped with baggage, and on top, muffled in heavy coats, sat Torpetus Macbean, Curt Blake, Toke Forster and Peter Bowles. The latter was the village constable and a warm friend of the old trapper's. He was going to drive the party to their destination and bring the team back that same night. On behind trotted the trapper's big yellow hound, Rolf.

Mr. Blake had given his final instructions the day before, so there was no deviating from the straight course.

The horses trotted briskly through the keen morning air, and, when the sun came up, the village was several miles behind. In front and on both sides lay rugged mountains and deep valleys.

The road led through an almost primeval wilderness, which would presently become entirely so when the last of the straggling settlements was passed.

The boys were in high spirits, and even Rolf seemed to share their enthusiasm. Young as they were, they had experienced in much of the severity of out-door life in the woods—in winter as well as in summer—and nothing was more to their taste, even though work be combined with pleasure.

Their knowledge of all matters connected with trapping, hunting and fishing fell little short of what Torpetus Macbean himself knew. Both were skilled in the use of the rifle and shotgun. It was the more creditable under the circumstances that the boys should have a higher motive for the future than is usually generated in the surroundings and customs of a remote country village.

Their association and companionship with Valentine Stanlock had wakened the desire to procure a good education and fit themselves for a station in life similar to that of the young schoolmaster. Their determination to spend the evenings in study was sincere.

The prospect of a winter in the woods was all the more delightful because of the end that was to be thus attained.

As the reader doubtless knows, there are many localities in the great State of Pennsylvania which remain absolutely the same as when the Indian roamed the hills and tomahawked the early-settler.

To such a spot were the boys going. White Deer Pond, their destination, lay in the heart of a pristine wilderness. It was in Sullivan County, a few miles over the Wyoming County line, and was about twenty miles southwest of Mehoopany.

Small game was plenty in the vicinity, and it was no uncommon thing for a wandering hunter to encounter a deer or a bear, or even that most dreaded of animals the panther.

From White Deer Pond flowed one of the smaller tributaries that give volume to the Mehoopany Creek whose main sources were a few miles north, over the Bradford County border.

The pond was very nearly circular in shape. Its diameter was a mile, and half a dozen small islands dotted its surface. Its water abounded with fish, mostly pike and perch.

On the west shore of the pond stood Torpetus Macbean's snug cabin. Of the trapper himself but little need be said at the present time.

He was a crude, outspoken old man, and not without a grim sense of humor. He was still wiry and vigorous in spite of his sixty years. A long, untrimmed beard and moustache gave him a patriarchal appearance. His nose was sharp and pointed, and his eyes as bright and piercing as an eagle's.

His father had been one of the early settlers of Wyoming County, and Torpetus was born and bred in the vicinity of Mehoopany. He was thoroughly versed in woodcraft, and was possessed of a rich fund of adventurous reminiscences.

He owned a little house in the village, but much of his time was spent at the cabin on White Deer Pond, where he fished in the summer and hunted in the fall.

He had returned to the village two weeks previous, with a goodly store of venison and a couple of bear pelts.

He usually remained in Mehoopany during the early part of the year, but on this occasion, as has been shown, he decided to accept the offer made by Mr. Blake.

Loneliness was all that brought the old man to the village at all, and the prospect of going back to the woods with a couple of companions was no doubt as gratifying to him as to the boys themselves.

Owing to the up-and-down nature of the road, and, in fact, to the absence of any road whatever during the last half-dozen miles of the journey, it was high noon when the sleigh circled around the south shore of White Deer Pond, forcing a precarious way through the bushes and over the thin snow-crust.

The pond was fed by the coldest of spring water, and its-surface was but partially covered by a thin form of ice. To every point of the compass stretched an unbroken forest.

The cabin stood on the flat top of a slight declivity a few yards from the shore. In front and for twenty feet on each side the soil had been cleared of timber.

"Well, boys, here we are," said Torpetus, as he dropped from the sleigh and opened the cabin door. "I'm free to confess that it does me good to see the old place again."

Curt and Toke followed him in, leaving Peter Bowles to care for the horses. Rolf capered ahead of them, wagging his tail with delight.

The interior of the cabin was small, but snug. In the end opposite the door was a spacious chimney and fireplace. This was used entirely for the burning of great logs. A small sheet-iron stove that stood to one side of the fireplace served for culinary purposes.

A heavily-shuttered window opened on each side of the cabin. There was also one in the front. The sleeping arrangements consisted of four boxed-up berths, something like seamen's quarters on shipboard.

Two were built against each of the side walls, considerably nearer to the fireplace than the door. They opened on the centre of the cabin, and were in a situation to receive heat and light when a log fire was burning on the hearth.

This was the hunter's idea of snugness, and it must be confessed that the berths afforded far more comfortable quarters than cots or hammocks.

The furniture comprised a large and a small table, two benches and two chairs. In the right-hand corner, by the fireplace, was a spacious cupboard, where the hunter kept a full supply of dish ware and culinary utensils. Overhead was a loft, to which ingress was had by a rude ladder.

The cabin was raised a foot above the ground, and to the rear end was annexed a small shed, well stocked with firewood.

As every one was voraciously hungry, dinner was the first thing suggested. A fire was built in the stove, and Torpetus prepared the meal with his own hands.

The afternoon was spent in unloading the sleigh and stowing away the various traps. The boys had brought along everything needful that past experience could suggest—extra clothes, heavy boots, gloves, fishing tackle, guns, ammunition, axes, lamps, oil, snow-shoes, and other articles too numerous to mention.

The provisions alone made a formidable heap. Among them were potatoes, tea, lemons, coffee, sugar, pork, bacon, beans, flour, corn-meal and a quantity of canned goods. A haunch of smoked venison, contributed by Torpetus himself, must not be omitted. Of luxuries or delicacies, there were none.

The loft served the hunter for a storehouse, and here most of the provisions were placed, the meat being suspended from the rafters. The sleigh had been packed with clean straw at Mehoopany, and this was utilized for filling the berths.

About half-past two o'clock Peter Bowles took his seat in the sleigh and turned the horses homeward.

"I'm going to take a day or two off after awhile, and come back and see you fellows," he shouted, as he drove away. "I reckon we'll have some lively times together."

How lively those contemplated times were destined to be, the highest flight of Mr. Bowles' by-no-means prosaic imagination could not have conceived.

The inside of the cabin looked very snug and cheerful that evening, with a lamp burning on the big table and a pine log glowing in the fireplace.

Torpetus retired early, and the boys soon followed him, for they were pretty well fatigued by the long, rough ride and their subsequent work.

The morning dawned in a murky grayness that indicated a storm of some kind, and, sure enough a fine snowfall came on soon after breakfast.

"There'll be no prospectin' of any kind done to-day," prophesied the old hunter. "From the present outlook, I shouldn't wonder if we would be snowed up for forty-eight hours or more. Arter it clears, we'll have a chance to use our snow-shoes."

Torpetus was right. The storm continued all day, without signs of abatement.

There was plenty to do indoors, however, and the morning and afternoon were spent in polishing, oiling and putting in repair the forty or more steel traps which were stowed away in the loft and had not been in use for a number of years.

"Not because the game has been gettin' scarcer," explained Torpetus, "for there's as many mink and muskrat as ever. But I kind o' got tired of makin' the rounds afore daylight every morning. With two young, spry fellers like you to help, we'll have an easy time of it."

When night fell, the snow was still descending thickly and a strong wind was blowing; but the occupants of the cabin gave little heed to the storm. The room was warm as toast, and a huge fire blazed on the hearth.

As they gathered about the table, after the supper dishes had been washed and put away, Rolf, who was stretched out by the fireside, rose, with a low whine, and trotted to the door. He sniffed at the crevices, and the hair began to rise along his spine. The boys sprang to their feet in alarm. "That hound has mighty sharp ears," observed the trapper. "The wind don't disturb his hearin', no matter how hard it blows. There's something wrong."

The next instant his prediction received a startling confirmation.

CHAPTER IV

n the brief silence that followed Torpetus Macbean's alarming words, all heard distinctly the faint, faraway report of a gun.

Curt and Toke looked at each other, and then at the trapper, whose grizzled face wore a perplexed expression.

"That, surely, was a gunshot," muttered Toke. "But why was it fired, and by whom? I didn't suppose there was a human being within ten miles of us to-night."

"Aye, that's the question!" exclaimed Torpetus. "It's a mighty curious circumstance, boys—mighty curious."

He walked to the door and threw it open. As a cloud of snow whirled in on the cabin floor, Rolf disappeared in the darkness. The boys followed Torpetus to the threshold, and as they stood there, with strained ears, they heard a strange sound, repeated after an interval of a few seconds.

"What was that, Torpetus?" they asked, anxiously.

Before the trapper could reply, Rolf ran back to the cabin with a growl. His hair fairly bristled with rage.

Torpetus slammed the cabin door shut and walked across the room.

"Did you hear those two cries?" repeated the boys.

"Hear them? Of course I did! Onless my ears have lost their keenness, one come from a human throat and t'other was uttered by a wild crittur—a catamount or panther, likely as not, to judge from the way that hound carries on."

"And what are you going to do?" asked Curt.

"See what it means," replied the trapper, briefly, as he took down his great-coat from a hook on the wall. "It's no time ter speculate who the stranger is or what he's doing in this neighborhood. The thing is to help him, and I reckon he needs it bad."

"I'll go with you," said Toke. "And I," offered Curt. They ran for their coats and rifles, but Torpetus stopped them.

"One of you can come along," he said, "but the other must stay at the cabin, so as to show us the way back, in case we lose our way. Not that there's much chance of that," he added, "for the hound is as good a guide as a man need want. But it's a mighty rough night out; and, besides, it's always best to be on the safe track."

"I spoke first," declared Toke. As this was manifestly true, Curt reluctantly consented to remain behind.

"Open all the shutters and keep the fire up well," instructed the trapper. "If you hear two gunshots, one right after the other, you may know we've lost our reckoning. Come to the door then, and fire your rifle. If we shoot three times, that'll mean we want you. But come on, my lad. We daren't lose any more time."

The foregoing conversation transpired in a much briefer interval than it takes to tell. From the first alarm to the departure of the rescue-party not five minutes had elapsed.

Toke and the trapper would have found themselves thoroughly at fault without the dog, for not a sound came from the forest, except the rustling of the wind through the leafless trees. The silence was ominous. Both realized that.

Rolf darted off instantly along the west shore of the pond, returning every moment or two to make sure that his master was on the right track, then vanishing again with a sullen growl.

It was bitterly cold, and the snow was falling so thickly that it was impossible to see any distance ahead. Torpetus took the lead, and Toke came closely at his heels. They wore stout boots and heavy coats, and each bore a rifle on his shoulder.

For a short distance the light from the cabin window shone on the path; then it was blotted out by the heavy timber. The snow seemed to deepen as they advanced. It was so light and feathery that Rolf made but slow progress through it, and by quickening their stride a little they kept him dimly in sight.

The dog's instinct was unerring, and not for a second at fault. It was evident from his incessant, hoarse growling that he had scent of something or other.

When the cabin was a hundred yards behind, he headed northwest away from the pond, and presently Toke and the trapper found themselves ascending a ridge, heavily timbered with spruce and pine.

The silence remained unbroken as they crossed the summit and pushed down into the valley below. Up the slope on the other side went Rolf, and close behind came Torpetus and Toke, panting hard for breath. The cabin was now a good half-mile behind.

On the crest of this second ridge Rolf paused a moment, and bristled like a porcupine. Then, with a fierce snarl, he vanished down the hill, taking the drifted snow in great leaps.

The trapper mounted a flat rock, and peered through the gloom, shading his eyes with his left hand.

As the seconds grew to a minute, the angry yelping of the dog was heard in the distance. All at once a fearful screech echoed through the night. Again and again the appalling cry was heard, and mingled with it the gruff snarls of the dog.

"I know that yell!" cried the trapper. "Keep behind me, lad, as you value your life!"

Seizing his rifle with both hands, Torpetus started down the hill on a run.

Toke was badly scared. He was afraid to remain where he was, so, after a moment's hesitation, he began the descent, keeping the trapper's fleeing figure in view.

The slope was, fortunately, not a long one. When Toke reached the bottom, the shrill outcry had ceased.

Torpetus was standing by the side of a small rivulet, bending over an object that proved to he Rolf. The dog was snarling with blended fear and rage.

"A panther is the only crittur that Rolf hates to tackle," said the trapper. "Look here, Toke, they've had a scrimmage, sure enough."

He pointed to an ugly wound on the hound's right fore-shoulder that had evidently been inflicted by the creature's claws.

"There ain't been a panther in the neighborhood for two winters," continued the trapper. "The crittur must have come down from the North Mountains."

"Where is it now?" asked Toke.

"Up yonder hillside somewhars," replied Torpetus. "It made itself scarce afore I could get a shot."

"And where is the man we heard shouting—the one who fired the gun?"

The trapper shook his head solemnly.

"Yes, where?" he muttered. "I have my fears, lad, that—"

He did not conclude the sentence, for Rolf suddenly bounded a few yards down the ravine, and began to whine in such a peculiar key that Toke and the trapper hurried to the spot. The hound was scratching and sniffing at one end of a great, rotted log, which had rolled down the hill years before and lodged among the stones by the side of the rivulet.

"What is it, Rolf?" cried the trapper. "The beast ain't in there, surely!"

The very suggestion of the thing caused Toke to draw back in alarm, and prepare for a flight up the hill.

"Help! help!"

The muffled appeal seemed to come from the very depths of the earth.

Rolf scratched more frantically than ever, and Torpetus gazed around in bewilderment.

"Sakes alive!" he ejaculated.

Then he dropped on his knees, and, driving the hound away, thrust both hands into the hollow log.

A couple of hard tugs, and out came a long object, which moved, sat up, and then rose erect.

"Land o' Goshen! Who is it?" asked the trapper.

"Don't be alarmed, Mr. Macbean," said the rescued stranger, with chattering teeth. "It's only I—Valentine Stanlock."

Toke sprang forward with an exclamation of amazement, and the two young friends were soon clasping hands warmly.

Val tried to explain, but he was shaking with cold and could not talk intelligibly. His limbs were cramped and stiff, and had not Torpetus caught hold of him, he would have fallen over.

"We must get him to the cabin as quick as we can," said the trapper. "Take an arm there, Toke. I reckon we can manage him between us."

"My gun," said Val, in a husky whisper, "and my satchel; they are not far away."

The little leather hand-bag was found down by the rivulet; but the search for the gun had to be abandoned for the present. It was probably buried some place in the snow.

The journey back to the cabin was a trying experience. Val was weak in the limbs, and had to be fairly dragged along.

The snow was coming down as thickly as ever, and was massing here and there in drifts. All depended on Rolf, and he proved himself worthy of the confidence.

He faithfully led the way, and when the welcome light from the cabin window twinkled through the trees, the little party were ready to drop with cold and exhaustion.

The few remaining yards seemed as long as the whole of the previous distance; but at last they crossed the clearing and staggered into the cabin.

Curt was struck dumb with amazement at sight of Val, and held aloof from him as though he believed him to be a ghost.

"Well explain in good time, Curt," said the trapper. "We're all pretty well tuckered out now. Just get us a bite to eat, will you, and put some coffee on to boil."

"I—I did!" stammered Curt, recovering speech, "I knew you would want it when you returned."

While he was placing the things on the table, Toke and the trapper threw off their snowy garments and turned their attention to Val.

His clothes and boots were wet, so they made him take them off and put on an extra suit of Toke's, which fitted him very well. Then they all gathered about the big log fire and sipped cups of steaming coffee.

A flush stole gradually over Val's pale features, and he looked up at the boys and smiled.

"I see how anxious you are to know what I'm doing here," he said, "so I won't keep you on tenter-hooks any longer. I'm a little weak yet, but I feel all right otherwise. It won't hurt me to talk. I'll make my story short, though.

"To commence at the beginning, I haven't been feeling very well lately, and was thinking seriously of taking a vacation, when I met you fellows day before yesterday. I couldn't get it out of my head what a good time you would have here in the woods this winter.

"Yesterday morning I made up my mind to join you—if you would let me stay. I wrote to a friend of mine down the river to know if he would take my place in the school, and received an answer by telegraph in the affirmative. Squire Petit—who is the head of the school board, you know—was so kind as to promise to make all the necessary arrangements and explanations.

"I left Mehoopany early this morning, putting on my oldest suit of clothes and overcoat, and taking some heavy shirts and things in a handbag.

"I rather liked the idea of walking. Peter Bowles gave me clear directions about finding the way, and I knew I could not miss it. I didn't calculate on a snow storm, though, and when it came on I had some thought of turning back.

"At last I decided to go ahead. I made slow progress on account of the snow, but managed to keep the road until late in the afternoon. Then I got astray somehow, and wandered about until dark, trying vainly to find the pond.

"I was really alarmed, for the snow was coming down blindingly and my limbs were getting chilled. I didn't dream of danger from any other source, and you may imagine how I felt when I heard some animal scream in the forest close behind me.

"I knew it must be a catamount or a panther. It gave another cry, and this time nearer than before, so I knew it was after me. I ran on for a few yards, and stopped to look back. I saw the creature stealing down the hill, and with the hope of scaring it away—for I didn't suppose I could hit it—I let drive with my shotgun.

"I heard one terrific screech, and was so badly scared that I shouted for help. I knew I wouldn't have time to reload the gun. I dropped it without knowing what I was doing, and ran on.

"Before I had taken a dozen steps I fell over a log, and fortunately discovered that the end was hollow. In I went head first. It was an awfully tight squeeze, but I got far enough back to be out of reach.

"The beast tried to come in after me, but I kicked him in the head with my heels. Then he began to tear at the outside of the log, and presently I heard his screams, mingled with the yelping of a dog.

"I was sure then that help was at hand, and the next thing I knew I was dragged out by the heels. It was an ugly experience, I tell you, boys." And Val shivered slightly and leaned down to pat Rolf, who was stretched out by the fireplace, gently licking his injured shoulder.

CHAPTER V

Curt and Toke drew a long breath, and Torpetus said, grimly:

"Yes, it was an ugly experience. If the hound hadn't scented the crittur, you might have been dragged out of the log and devoured. We'll see more of that panther, boys, and afore the winter's over I hope to put a rifle-ball through his head."

"The sooner the better," approved Curt. "It's not very pleasant to have a neighbor of that sort. I am very glad you came, Val," he continued. "I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw you."

"You would have been still more surprised if you had seen Torpetus drag him out of the log," said Toke, laughing at the recollection.

"Can I stay, then?" asked Val, with a side glance at the trapper. "It was rather cheeky to come without an invitation, I'll admit."

"Stay. Of course you can!" exclaimed Torpetus, heartily. "You're welcome to stay as long as you please, Val. I don't know as our fare is quite what you're accustomed to, but there's plenty of it; and there's your bunk ready and waitin'."

Val thanked the trapper warmly.

"It's all right about the fare," he assured. "I'm no novice at camping and outdoor life."

Then turning to the boys, he added:

"My presence here must not be allowed to interfere with any of your arrangements. I shall do my share of the work, and help you with the trapping; but I won't accept any part of the profits in return. And I will aid you all I can with your studies at night, too."

The boys were compelled to agree to this, though they would gladly have taken Val into partnership in their trapping venture.

"No, I won't take a cent!" he persisted. "I will be only too glad to help you all I can. What I need is plenty of outdoor exercise, and I intend to get it."

All sat up late that night, chatting over the recent exciting event and discussing plans for the future.

At last they turned in among the blankets and straw, and went to sleep by the ruddy glow from the smouldering logs on the hearth.

The trapper rose before daylight, and when the boys turned out of their berths one by one, an hour later, the cabin was warm as toast, and fragrant with the appetizing odor of crisp bacon and fried potatoes. All were ravenously hungry, and did ample justice to the meal.

It was still snowing, and the ground was covered to the depth of a foot or more; but the trapper predicted a speedy cessation of the storm.

There was plenty of work to be done, both indoors and out. Val and Toke cleared a path to the pond, and procured water by chopping a hole through the thin ice. Then they forced a way to the woodshed and carried a number of logs into the cabin.

Curt and the trapper washed and put away the breakfast dishes, and thoroughly aired the bedding.

Rolf moved about stiffly. Under his master's skillful care his would was already in process of healing.

About ten o'clock it stopped snowing, and presently the sun came out.

"I reckon the weather will be fine for awhile now," said the trapper. "We mustn't forget the contract we have in hand, boys; so, after dinner, we'll make a short prospectin' trip on snow-shoes."

This plan was carried out. Torpetus chose Curt to accompany him, and with show-shoes strapped to their feet they started away from the cabin on a rapid stride.

They carried an axe apiece, and their rifles of course, for it was quite likely that the panther was still prowling in the vicinity.

Toke and Val finished overhauling the steel traps, and then turned their attention to supper. Both were well versed in camp cookery.

Shortly before twilight the absent ones returned, in a hungry and happy frame of mind. They had spent the afternoon in a general survey of Mr. Blake's section of land, which lay east of the pond, in the direction of Mehoopany.

"There is plenty of good timber within easy reach of the head-waters of the creek," said Curt, "and when the spring floods come there will be a sufficient volume of water to carry the logs down to the village. We blazed a few of the best trees."

"Did you see anything of the panther?" asked Toke.

"Nary a sign," replied the trapper. "I reckon the snow is too deep for the crittur to travel about. He'll be ravenous with hunger afore long, you may depend."

After supper the daily programme for the future was fully and unanimously discussed.

Torpetus had the clearest ideas on the subject.

"The first thing in the morning will be to make the round of the traps," he said. "That will take until nine or ten o'clock, providin' two of us start early and go in different directions. I reckon I'd better leave that work to you boys, for my legs ain't as spry as they used ter be. Whichever of you don't make this trip can go along with me when the others come back. We'll take a cold lunch with us, and while we're away blazing the trees, the other two must get bait for the traps. An hour or so a day will be enough to put in on the timber. We'll return to the cabin about two or three o'clock, and then the traps must be set for the night. We'll all come together for supper at six o'clock."

"Dinner, you mean," said Toke, "if we're only going to have a cold lunch at noonday."

"Call it what you please, boy," replied the trapper. "It won't be a skimpy meal, you may be sartin of that."

"The traps will all be within a short radius of the cabin, won't they?" asked Curt.

-"They will at first," replied Torpetus; "but when the game begins to get scarce we'll have to widen the latitude. We'll set traps for muskrat along the shore of this pond. Red Rock Marsh will be the place for mink, and so will the Allogash. The marsh lies two miles due west of here, and the Allogash about the same distance to the southwest. It's a pretty fair-sized stream and pours into Long Pond. As I said before, when these places are played out, there are other streams and marshes a little farther away. As for foxes, we'll find them any place hereabouts. Red and gray ones are quite plentiful, and we might have the luck to run across a silver gray."

"How do you trap foxes?" questioned Val.

"There is different ways. I generally put a plump duck or bird by the trap and cover them both with chaff or pine twigs. The fox wades in after the bait, and it's ten to one the trap ketches him."

"The most difficult thing will be to procure the bait, won't it?" remarked Curt, joining the conversation.

"It will keep us moving, I reckon," replied Torpetus. "We have nigh onto forty traps, all told. The proper bait for mink and muskrat is birds, fish, frogs, rats and mice. The birds we can get, and there's fish in plenty to be had in the pond. I don't know about the rest. If the weather holds good, we'll commence active operations to-morrow."

But unfortunately the weather did not hold good. A thaw set in late that night, and the inmates of the cabin were awakened at dawn by the steady patter of rain on the roof overhead.

A sojourn in the woods during wet, wintry weather is usually the most cheerless and melancholy of existences. The boys, however, did not find it so.

They would have preferred outdoor diversions and employment; but, nevertheless, the period of their enforced confinement to the cabin passed away quickly and pleasantly.

The rain and thaw lasted for two days. A huge log fire, constantly kept burning, made the interior of the cabin as warm and cheerful as the living-room of an old English castle in feudal times.

Torpetus related thrilling tales of adventure with Indians and wild animals, that had the merit of being true. The evenings were given up to study. Under Val's tutelage, Curt and Toke made a fair inroad on "Æsop's Fables," which came first in the Latin reader. While camping together during the previous summer, Val had instructed them in the rudiments of the grammar.

Torpetus smoked his pipe in silence by the fire, and nodded wisely over the old story of the wolf and the kid, as it fell from the boy's lips in disconnected fragments.

When the translation was finished, and Curt proudly went over it aloud, the trapper scratched his head, and demanded:

"How on airth did the kid come to be up on the roof of a house? It was a strange place for the crittur."

"The book doesn't tell that," said Curt.

"Perhaps the roof sloped to the ground on one side," suggested Val.

"Then why didn't the wolf climb up and take the kid, instead of standin' there to be sassed?" snorted the trapper. "Besides, I don't believe animals talked in them days any more than they do now."

The boys tried to explain the fable to him, but Torpetus listened scornfully.

"I reckon that Mr. Esops was a fraud," he said, doggedly.

And there the matter rested.

Late on the afternoon of the second day it cleared up and grew cold. In the morning the air was keen and bitter, with a promise of increased severity.

What snow had survived the melting rain was covered with a hard, icy crust, and the pond was frozen over from shore to shore.

"This time the weather is going to stay settled for a while," predicted the trapper. "And it couldn't be finer, either,"

After breakfast, a couple of holes were chopped through the rim of thick ice that surrounded the pond, and Val and Toke proceeded to fish for pike, baiting their hooks with what is known as speck, being the fatty part of a shoulder of bacon.

The trapper and Curt started off for the woods with their shotguns. They returned in two hours with three ducks, which they had shot on a small pond a few miles back in the woods.

"It's rather late for them," said Torpetus, "but the mild weather we've had up to New Year's has kept them in this part of the country."

The fishermen had a dozen fine pike to show, so the question of bait for the traps was settled for the present.

Lunch over, Torpetus and Curt loaded themselves with half of the traps, and starter away. They took with them the ducks and part of the fish. It was nearly twilight when they returned tired and hungry.

"Ten of the traps is set in Red Rock Marsh," said the trapper, "and the other ten is along the Allogash. Curt can be one of the two to look after them in the morning."

During the absence of their companions, Val and Toke had placed half a dozen traps along the nearest shore of the pond. The boys were all pretty tired from their day's work, and went to bed without touching the Latin books.

CHAPTER VI

It grew still colder during the night, and when the boys tumbled out of bed at daybreak, in response, to the trapper's summons, the room felt like the interior of an ice cavern.

The logs on the hearth had burnt to ashes, but the stove was kindled up ready to light, and a few minutes after touching a match to it there was a comfortable difference in temperature.

Toke and Val turned their attention to breakfast, while Curt ran down to the pond for a pail of water.

"It's the coldest day we've had this winter," he said when he came back. "Yesterday's holes are frozen over three inches deep. I had to cut one of them out again. The ice on the pond is solid enough to bear a regiment."

"Good!" cried Toke. "I'm glad we brought our skates along."

"You'll get little chance to use them," observed Torpetus. "We have enough work on hand to keep us busy. Go on with the breakfast, boys, while I take a look at our muskrat traps."

He returned in fifteen minutes, empty handed.

"You didn't set them in the right place," he said. "I'll show you where to put them myself to-night. Breakfast ready, is it? Well, fall to, lads, afore I sweep the board, for I've a gnawin' emptiness in me this morning."

They needed no second invitation, and the well-cooked viands disappeared like magic.

After breakfast it was agreed that Curt and Val should inspect the mink traps in Red Rock Swamp and, along the Allogash, and return as quickly as possible. They put on heavy boots and coats, and started off with their rifles over their shoulders.

Toke commenced work on the dishes but the trapper stopped him.

"I'll attend to that," he said; "and whatever else is to be done. Take your lines down to the pond and try to catch some more fish. We'll need a good many for bait this evening."

Toke obeyed, and in the excitement of the sport—for the pike bit voraciously—he took no account of time. He heard his name called, and on looking up saw the trapper standing in the doorway.

"You needn't fish any longer. You have plenty," said Torpetus, when Toke reached the cabin. "It's half after eleven o'clock, and them disapp'intin' fellers promised to be back by eleven. I don't calculate to wait on them. I'll take an axe and a pocketful of crackers and go down to the timber section; and when they come back you can start after me."

"You don't suppose there can be anything wrong?" asked Toke, uneasily.

"No, of course not. I know what boys is. As like as not they've got on the track of some game and are follerin' it up. I reckon they'll be here pretty soon now."

"They may have a heavy load of mink to carry," suggested Toke, seriously.

Torpetus laughed.

"I hope so. Well, good-by, lad. I'll look for you. You know where to find me."

He picked up his axe and rifle and strode away, with Rolf at his heels. The dog was recovering from his wound, and could travel pretty smartly on a limp.

He was greatly attached to his master, and could never be persuaded to remain at the cabin unless Torpetus was there, too.

Half an hour went by, but the boys did not return. Although White Deer Pond was in a wild and isolated section of country, and surrounded by an almost trackless forest, Toke felt neither lonely nor afraid.

He brought in a pail of water and cleaned a few of his best fish for supper. Then he replenished the stock of firewood, and ate a lunch of bread and cold meat, washing it down with a cup of hot coffee.

The little clock over the fireplace now pointed to one. Toke began to feel uneasy, and then alarmed. He could not imagine what had delayed Val and Curt. The possibility of their losing themselves occurred to him, but he dismissed the idea as absurd.

With a view to relieving his mind, he got out the Latin reader and grammar and began to translate the fable of "The Trumpeter."

He grew interested in the work, and forgot his worries. He stuck for awhile at several knotty points, and when the translation was finally completed and copied off on paper, he was amazed to find that it was half-past two o'clock.

"Something has surely happened to the boys," he muttered. "I ought to go after Torpetus, but I don't like to leave the cabin alone. However, when he finds that I don't come, he will probably suspect the truth and return."

The cabin was oppressively warm from the huge log fire on the hearth, so Toke threw open the sash of one of the side windows, which worked on hinges like the shutter.

He had to mount a chair to do it, for the window was high up. As he stepped down, he heard a noise outside the front end of the cabin, exactly as though a dog was chewing bones.

"It must be Rolf," he thought, gladly. "He has stopped to eat those fish-heads that I threw out. The trapper can't be far behind."

The possibility that the noise could have any other origin did not occur to Toke for an instant. Without hesitation, he walked quickly to the door and threw it wide open.

He encountered a sight that fairly froze his blood with horror. A dozen feet away crouched a long, tawny, gray beast. The creature was gaunt with hunger, and was greedily devouring the frozen fish-heads. It lifted its big, ugly head and looked at Toke with a pair of blazing eyes, snarling the while with fury.

Toke saw that the beast was about to spring, and by an effort he staggered back into the cabin. He was badly frightened, and hardly knew what he was doing.

Instead of at once closing the door and barring it, he gave it a violent slam, and ran across the room with the vague intention of reaching his rifle, which was standing in the far corner.

But the latch did not drop into place, and before Toke had taken half a dozen steps, the savage creature pounced against the door and tumbled into the cabin with a furious screech.

Toke knew what the sounds meant, and the very imminence of the peril lent him presence of mind.

It was too late to reach his rifle, but he remembered the loft overhead, and in one leap he gained the foot of the rude ladder.

"In one leap he gained the foot of the rude ladder"

A squirrel or a monkey could not have made better time in the ascent of those rungs than did Toke. He heard a screech below him as he pulled himself out on the dusty floor, and with a quick movement he kicked away the prop that held the trap-door halfway open. It fell with a bang, and none too soon, for the enraged beast was clinging to the ladder, midway between the floor and the rafters.

Toke was trembling with fright. He sat down on the door to render it more secure, and breathed hard for a few minutes. He heard the animal drop lightly to the floor, and then all was silence.

"It's a good thing Torpetus made a covering for this trap," he muttered, with a shiver. "Ugh! what a close shave that was! The brute must be ravenous with hunger from the desperate attempt he made to get hold of me. The siege won't last long, though, for Torpetus will soon be here."

So great was Toke's dread of the hungry animal on the lower floor that he would not lift the trap to get another glimpse of it. He placed his ear to the crevice and listened. He heard a soft patter of feet, and then a rattle among the tinware, as though the beast was seeking something to eat.

The next thought that occurred to him made his heart throb wildly.

Suppose the boys should return and enter the cabin without any suspicion of its terrible inmate? Or even Torpetus? though, in this event, Rolf would probably scent the fierce intruder at a distance and give his master warning. Fortunately all the absent ones were armed.

"If there was only a window or something that I could see out of," thought Toke, "it would be all right."

But there was nothing of the kind. The sloping sides of the roof attested the trapper's skill in building. The shingles were well laid on, and not the smallest crevice admitted a ray of light.

The minutes went monotonously by, and as a better sense of his secure position dawned on Toke he concluded to lift the trap-door an inch or two and peep down.

He had taken hold of the ring to do so, when he heard a sound that he recognized instantly—the crunching of feet on the frozen snow outside the cabin. It could not be the trapper, for Rolf would have preceded him and raised an outcry long before this. It must be Val and Curt.

Toke was horrified to think of the danger that lay in wait for them. He drew in a full breath and shouted with all the strength of his lungs:

"Look out! Don't come in the cabin! There's a panther inside! Be ready to shoot!"

He paused and listened.

The crunching footsteps had ceased and all was quiet.

The silence remained unbroken for fully two minutes, though the suspense made it seem much longer to Toke. Then the door below slammed violently. A gruff voice shouted:

"There he is! Shoot quick!"

A terrible screech, mingled with a clatter of tinware and the upsetting of a table or chair; and before the echo died away, the heavy report of a gun shook the cabin to its foundations.

The pungent powder smoke rose and filtered through the crevices of the rafters.

Footsteps were heard, and then a low murmur of voices. The tones were gruff and unfamiliar to Toke's ears.

He was carried away by excitement and a desire to learn the fate of the panther. Without a thought of danger, he lifted the trap clear up and peered down into the room.

CHAPTER VII

The moment after Toke lifted the trap-door, he felt more than half sorry that he had not remained in his place of concealment.

No panther was visible, but in the creature's stead were two men, whose appearance was by no means prepossessing even to Toke's inexperienced eyes.

The discovery was mutual, and one of the strangers, who held a smoking rifle in his hand, called loudly:

"Come down, my lad, come down. Don't be afraid. The danger is over."

Toke slowly made his way to the floor, and glanced about the room, confident of seeing the dead beast; but no panther was in sight, dead or alive.

"The varmint got clear off," said the man with the rifle. "It hesitated at first whether to fight or retreat, and then made a leap through that open window. I took a flying shot at it, but missed. The brute must have been desperately hungry to enter the cabin. Pretty near caught you, did he?"

Toke quietly explained, eying his rescuers meanwhile with curiosity and doubt. The elder of the two was a big burly man with a bushy red moustache and beard, and a restless, furtive expression.

This was the man who had addressed Toke. His companion was short and rather stout, with a smooth-shaven face, light hair and gray eyes. His features were simply villainous, and he looked capable of any cruelty or crime.

Both men wore coarse, heavy clothing and high leather boots, and both had rifles.

A brief scrutiny convinced Toke that his visitors were rough characters, if nothing worse.

He had never seen either of the men before, and he could only account for their presence in the neighborhood on the ground that they were illegally hunting deer.

When Toke had related his adventure, the man with a red beard whispered a word or two in his companion's ear, and then said aloud:

"Yes, that was a pretty close shave, my boy; but where are your companions? There are three of you altogether, I believe."

It was evident from this remark that the men had been prowling about the cabin at some previous time, and that they were ignorant of the fact that the trapper was with the party.

More by accident than design, Toke did not undeceive them. He was too much worried about Curt and Val to think of mentioning Torpetus or to be guarded in his replies.

"The other two boys went away early this morning to look at the traps," he said, candidly, "and they have not returned yet, though they should have been here by nine or ten o'clock. You didn't see anything of them, did you?"

"No," replied the red-bearded man, "not a sign, in which direction did they go."

"Back to Red Rock Marsh and the Allogash," replied Toke.

"Well, we haven't been in that neighborhood. I wouldn't worry, though, if I were you. Like as not they have wandered farther away than they intended. And now do you think you could spare us a bite to eat, my young friend? We don't want it, mind you, unless you're sure you have plenty. It takes a lot of provisions to keep three hungry boys going in the woods, and as it's such a big distance to carry it, I don't suppose you brought any too much along. You depend on fish and game a good deal, don't you?"

The man's jovial manner and apparent reluctance to accept such a slight favor as a bite to eat quite disarmed Toke's suspicions.

"Oh, we can easily spare it!" he made haste to reply. "We have more supplies on hand than we could use up in a month. If you are not too hungry to wait, I'll get you up a good supper. Torpetus will soon be here, anyhow."

If the two strangers heard this last remark at all, the probably supposed Torpetus to be the name of one of the absent boys, and gave the matter no further thought.

They exchanged meaning glances and cast their eyes about the cabin as though they expected to find the store of provisions Toke had mentioned in plain sight,=. But if the supplies were not visible, something else was, and the eyes of the red-bearded man twinkled when he caught sight of the rifle leaning in the corner and the pasteboard cartridge-boxes that rested on a little shelf above.

"It's a rare chance, Tucker," he whispered to his companion. "We'll be fixed for the rest of the winter."

Meanwhile Toke had turned to the stove, and was heaping fresh wood on the ruddy embers of the old fire.

"These men may be law-breakers," he soliloquized; "but they got me out of a mighty unpleasant fix, and I can't do less than give them a good supper. I wish Torpetus would come, though. Something has surely happened to the boys."

It would have been fortunate, indeed, if the trapper had chanced to enter the door at that moment; for, as Toke turned away from the stove, his shoulders were seized in a vise-like grip, and a voice at his ear said harshly:

"Don't struggle, young man, and you won't be harmed."

Toke was too frightened by the sudden assault to heed this advice. He squirmed and twisted to escape from his, captor, but was speedily thrown to the floor.

"Help! help!" he cried, with all his might.

"Shut up, you young idiot!" muttered the red-bearded man, bending down and clutching Toke's throat angrily. "It will be the worse for you if you don't. Here, Tucker," he added, to his companion, "hand me a handkerchief and some cord. I'd better still the boy's mouth."

The younger man had both these articles on his person. He quickly handed them over, and, in less time than it takes to tell, Toke's arms and legs were tightly bound.

"You will pay dearly for this outrage," he gasped. "Just wait till Torpetus—"

The sentence was suddenly stifled by a handkerchief which the red-bearded man thrust into Toke's mouth.

The one addressed as Tucker walked across the cabin and went outside, closing the door behind him.

He returned in a moment.

"No one in sight," he reported. "We'd better be quick, though. They may return any time."

"We will be quick," rejoined the other, grimly. "Not as there's anything to fear from a couple of youngsters; but it's just as well to avoid a little unpleasantness. Lend a hand here, Tucker. We must put this boy where his friends won't find him right away."

Toke was fairly bursting with rage and indignation, but resistance or speech was out of his power.

The two rascals carried him to the foot of the ladder, and by their combined efforts, one going ahead and one behind, dragged him upward from rung to rung until the loft was gained.

The ladder creaked considerably during this operation, but it was stronger than it looked and did not give way. Toke was deposited in the very farthest corner.

"Now see here, boy," said the red-bearded man, "I just want to say, for your own good, that you and your friends needn't try to follow us, for we're going to leave this part of the country instanter, and, if you hunt till doomsday, you'll never see us again. We have a long journey before us, and need a good supply of provisions; so that's why we're going to help ourselves to yours."

The expression of Toke's face showed pretty conclusively that he had little intention of taking this advice to heart. But it was too dark for the men to see his features They laughed and started toward the trap-door.

A couple of surprised exclamations announced their discovery of the meat hanging from the rafters, and Toke boiled inwardly to see a haunch of smoked venison, a ham, and a shoulder of bacon taken down from the hooks.

Then the impudent thieves descended the ladder, dropping the trap-door behind them.

For some time Toke could hear them moving about on the lower floor. The knowledge that they were helping themselves to all the cabin contained made him fairly desperate, and he tried again and again to break his bonds, only desisting when the pain was more than he could bear.

He could not account for the long absence of Torpetus, and as for the boys, he was thoroughly convinced that some accident had befallen them.

The possibility of either party returning at any moment added to his uneasiness. If they arrived before the robbers left the cabin, a fight would ensue, and the consequences might be disastrous.

"There will probably be a fight, anyhow," he thought; "for Torpetus Macbean isn't the kind of man to submit to an outrage like this. He'll follow the rascals for a week."

Presently the cabin door closed softly, and though Toke listened for some time, not the faintest sound could be heard.

He felt greatly relieved to know that his unpleasant visitors had really taken their departure. He did not waste any more strength in the useless attempt to free his limbs; but by the long and patient employ of his tongue he finally succeeded in ejecting the handkerchief from his mouth.

This was almost as great an advantage as the other would have been, for he was now certain of being released as soon as any of his friends arrived.

But as the minutes went by without a sound from below, Toke's hopeful feeling changed to despair. Could it be possible that not only the boys, but Torpetus, also, had met with an accident? It was the most natural supposition in view of the trapper's long absence.

The loft was equally dark by day or night, but Toke knew that it could not be far from sunset.

He waited a little longer, and then commenced to shout. He kept it up until his voice grew hoarse, but no welcome response came back.

He suffered greatly from cold, for the fires below had long since gone out. At last, when patience and hope were both exhausted, and he had begun to believe that no one would reach him that night, the distant bark of a dog was heard.

Toke listened eagerly and his heart leaped for joy when the cabin door was opened and heavy footsteps crossed the floor.

"Help! help!" he cried. "Here I am, Torpetus!"

The footsteps ceased, and the trapper's familiar voice ejaculated:

"Great Scott! What's wrong?"

"Up here I am, in the loft!" shouted Toke.

A brief delay was followed by the creaking of the ladder-rungs, and Toke saw a yellow glow dancing on the beams overhead. Then the trapdoor was thrown back, and Torpetus appeared, lamp in hand.

He quickly crossed the floor, and, stooping down, severed Toke's bonds with a sharp knife. He pulled the cramped and stiffened boy to his feet, and looked at him in profound amazement.

"What—on airth—does this mean?" he asked. "Speak, lad—quick!"

CHAPTER VIII

Toke tried hard to speak, but his teeth chattered so that only inarticulate sounds came from his lips.

Torpetus saw what was needed. He helped the half-frozen boy down the ladder and placed him beside the stove.

The latter he filled with wood, and a roaring fire was soon sending a grateful warmth through the room.

Toke speedily recovered the use of his voice, and told the trapper as briefly as possible what had occurred during his absence.

Torpetus had already divined the truth from the general aspect of the cabin.

"Jehosophat, lad!" he exclaimed, striking the table heavily with his fist. "I wouldn't have answered for them varmints' lives if I had come in while they was at their thieving work; and I'll lay hands on 'em yet or my name ain't Torpetus Macbean. They've carried off pretty near everything we had—all the groceries, and the flour and corn meal, and two shotguns and a rifle, and all them boxes of cartridges. They must have dumped the plunder into them two meal-bags, so they could carry it easily; but it's a mighty heavy load they've got as it is, and if we stir ourselves we can overtake them before they get far away. Rolf will follow the scent, I'll warrant you. He knows there's something wrong."

"But the boys," reminded Toke. "What can have happened to them?"

The trapper looked at him blankly.

"You're right, Toke; that's our first duty. I declare, I was so flustered that I forgot about Curt and Val. And so they haven't come back yet? Well, I reckon they've met with some misfortune—got lost in the woods, like as not. We'll find them, lad; don't be worried. We'll start just as soon as you feel able to tramp, unless you'd rather stay at the cabin."

"No, no; I'll go with you," said Toke, quickly.

"Get ready, then," replied the trapper. "It's freezing cold out, so wrap yourself up well. We'd better have a bite to eat first and take a little food along, for the boys will be well nigh starved when we find 'em."

Torpetus was more worried than he chose to let appear, but he quietly prepared some hot coffee, and bread and butter, and sat down at the table, making Toke seat himself opposite.

The lamp was lighted, for the short twilight was just fading into darkness.

Toke ate silently, but the trapper kept up a running conversation between bites.

"I didn't tell you what delayed me this afternoon, Toke," he said. "I had a wild-goose chase all by myself, though I reckon now it was all for the best. About an hour after I got down to the timber section, I happened to climb a ridge with a bare spot on top, and from there I spied a column of smoke rising straight in the air. It was over in the direction of Long Pond. I knowed it was a strange thing for any one to be in the woods this time of year, so I concluded to see what it meant. Well, I fixed the location and started toward it. I tramped on for two or three miles, and then went up a big pine tree to have another look. When I got to the top the smoke was nowhere to be seen; so I turned about and headed for the cabin at full speed.

"Do you think the smoke had anything to do with Curt and Val?" asked Toke, eagerly.

Torpetus shook his head.

"No, I don't," he answered, decidedly. "It was in the wrong direction for that. I have my suspicions, lad, and before many hours I'll know whether they're correct or not. I believe that smoke was made by the confederate or confederates of them two sneaks that robbed the cabin. What they told you about leaving the neighborhood was a lie. I believe they have a snug retreat over at Long Pond. It's a good deal more wild and lonesome there than it is here, and no doubt it's venison they're after. I'll have a peep into that neighborhood to-morrow, and if I find that the rascals are too strong for us, I'll send down to the village for Peter Bowles and some of the men. I'm not much afraid of their lighting out, for, according to your story, Toke, they don't know that I'm stopping at the cabin."

"Yes, they think that only we three boys are in the party," said Toke. "They did not seem to notice when I mentioned your name."

"They'll make my acquaintance before long," replied the trapper, grimly. "I won't bother any more about them now. The first thing is to hunt up the missing boys. The rest will come afterward. That panther must be got out of the way, too, as soon as we have time. But, come on, lad! Stuff some crackers and meat in your pocket, and we'll be off."

The open window was closed and barred, and the lighted lamp was left on the table. Torpetus did not lock the door.

"Not much danger of the sneaks coming back," he explained; "but the boys might return while we're away."

It was quite dark when they started, and though Torpetus took a lantern with him, he did not light it.

"I know the way to Red Rock Marsh, blindfolded," he remarked. "After we get there, a light may come handy. Keep close behind me, Toke, and you'll be all right."

Rolf started off to the south, with his nose to the ground, evidently scenting the men or the panther; but the trapper sternly ordered him back, and struck into the woods west of the cabin at a brisk gait.

Toke followed in his footsteps, and the hound came reluctantly behind, running alternately on three legs and on four. It was bitterly cold, and the hard snow crunched under foot.

While the trapper and his companion are pushing on through the dark and lonely forest, we must take the reader back a few hours and follow Curt and Val on their adventurous trip.

Curt was familiar with the country for a radius of three or four miles from the cabin. He led the way, unerringly, and in less than an hour after the start the boys reached their first stopping-place.

Red Rock Marsh, as has been previously stated, lay about two miles west of White Peer Pond. It was a flat, swampy expanse of ground, covered with black pools and patches of dense bushes, and hemmed in by high hills which gave it a perpetual aspect of gloom, even on the brightest days.

Numerous springs had their origin here, and trickled sluggishly away to the southward, through a narrow ravine.

The place was fitly named, for a jagged column of rock towered forty feet in air from the west side of the marsh. Its base covered an extent of possibly twenty square yards, and centuries of rain and snow and sunshine had given it a dull, reddish color.

It was a picturesque old landmark, and Val, who had never visited the spot before looked at it curiously from the opposite side of the Marsh, until roused by a nudge from his companion.

"Come on," said Curt. "We must do some lively tramping to get back to the cabin in time."

He led the way over the marsh with cautious steps. A path existed for those who knew it, and Curt was among the few favored ones.

Five minutes of vigilant walking, over tufts of hard ground and moss-covered logs, brought the boys to the spot where the ten traps had been set in close proximity—an oblong pool of shallow water, surrounded by short bushes and weeds.

Here were visible a dozen or more oddly-shaped, hut-like mounds, built of coarse grass and mud, and raised from two to four feet above the surface of the water.

The experienced eye of a woodsman would readily have recognized these as the habitations which muskrats build for themselves in shallow, marshy places. The entrances are always under water.

"Hurrah! here's luck!" cried Curt. He lifted the nearest trap and took from it a small animal with glossy brown fur.

"Two more," he added, the next moment, tossing the game over to Val, who stood looking interestedly at the little muskrat houses.

Torpetus had wisely arranged his traps on the previous evening, for no less than six held a muskrat each, while, of the remaining four, two were sprung and two had not been molested.

"At this rate, we'll all be rich before the end of the season," said Curt, jokingly, as he gathered the bunch of game together by the tails. "Come on, Val. Now for the Allogash. If we do half as well there, I'll be satisfied, for the traps are all set for mink, and mink, you know, are much more valuable than muskrat."

"Are they?" responded Val, in an absent-minded tone, which his companion did not notice.

"Why, certainly," replied Curt, as he led the way back across the marsh. "They are larger, for one thing, and the fur is a great deal softer and richer. It's lots of fun to run the traps; but Torpetus and Toke will have the hard work when they follow us up to-night to set them."

Curt kept up this one-sided conversation until the ascent of the steep hill that bordered the southeastern corner of the marsh shortened his wind.

A walk of two miles over rugged country brought the boys to the Allogash at a point some two miles from the cabin, thus making the whole route, including the straight cut home, between six and seven miles.

The Allogash was a typical Pennsylvania mountain stream—devious in its windings; here broad, there narrow; here shallow and brawling as it ran over pebbles and moss, there gloomy and silent as it flowed through deep, shadowless pools and boiled and thundered among vast boulders and rocky gorges. It rose far to the west of Sullivan County, and flowed in a general southeasterly course through a region unparalleled for wild and lonely grandeur, until it emptied into a corner of Long Pond, some ten miles from where the boys then stood.

Long Pond, of which much more will be said hereafter, was distant eleven miles from White Deer Pond.

Torpetus had placed his mink traps along a deep and tranquil part of the Allogash, and within a radius of fifty yards.

Curt had accompanied him on the previous evening, and knew where to find them all. The result exceeded his most sanguine expectations, for the ten traps yielded three mink.

The boys examined the pretty little animals with rapture. Their color was a dark, glossy brown, with more or less white on the under parts, and the fur was exceedingly soft and downy.

"We have a pretty good load to carry," said Curt. "Suppose we sit down for a short rest, and then strike for the cabin."

Val assented readily, and, choosing a large, fallen log, the boys seated themselves side by side.

CHAPTER IX

It was too cold a day to remain still with any comfort, and the boys realized this before five minutes had passed.

"We had better move on," said Curt. "Toke and the trapper will want to go down to the timber section, and you know we have a lot of bait to get this afternoon."

"Well, I'm ready, if you are," replied Val.

He rose to his feet, rifle in hand, and glanced carelessly down the course of the Allogash.

Limited as the view was by timber and bushes, it was quite long enough to reveal something that brought a look of startling fear to Val's face.

He turned like a flash, and, with a light touch pushed Curt backward from the log into a thick clump of grass behind it. He tossed the game and the two rifles in the same direction, and, springing over himself, dropped down beside his amazed and somewhat indignant companion.

"What do you mean?" demanded Curt, in a half-angry whisper. "Why did you do that?"

"Hush—hush!" warned Val. "Don't make any noise. I can't explain now. Keep your head down. Here he comes."

A sharp crackling of bushes and the heavy tread of feet was heard close by, and as the boys peeped cautiously around the end of the log they saw a man emerge from the undergrowth a few yards below them.

The stranger was heavily dressed and booted. He bore a rifle on his shoulder, and from under his slouch hat peered a face that was familiar to at least one of the hidden boys—a sullen, evil face, covered by a stubbly black beard and moustache.

The man walked briskly on, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground, he passed the log without suspicion, and the sound of his footsteps and the crackling of twigs and brush grew fainter and farther away, until all was silent.

For a full minute longer Val crouched in the dry grass, with his hand on Curt's shoulder, breathing in sharp, quick gasps. Then he rose slowly to his feet, and glanced up the stream in the direction the stranger had taken.

Curt rose also. He was still vaguely uncertain whether the affair that had just transpired was to be taken seriously or ludicrously. To him, the presence of a stranger in the woods was not necessarily a cause for alarm. But a glance at his companion's pale face convinced him that Val had acted from a well-grounded motive, and not from a sudden, cowardly impulse.

"What's the matter, Val?" he questioned. "Who was that man? Do you know him?"

Val stooped and silently picked up the rifles and the bunch of game. Then he replied, evasively:

"Does a fellow need to know a character like that before he thinks it necessary to get out of his way? The fellow's looks were enough for me! I knew it would be wise to keep out of his sight, and that is why I tumbled you over the log so unceremoniously. I hope I didn't hurt you, Curt. It was a time for quick action, and I hadn't a chance to explain matters."

"No, you didn't hurt me," said Curt. "You scared me though. I thought you had turned highway robber all of a sudden. But I confess I don't quite see the necessity for hiding."

"It was prudent, that's all," replied Val. "Always best to be on the safe side, you know. But, speaking seriously, Curt, there was cause for alarm. The man was plainly a rough character, if nothing worse—his face proved that—and I am convinced that he is in this neighborhood for no good purpose. He probably has companions near at hand, too. It was important, therefore, that he should not see us, and it is equally important that the trapper should know all about this mysterious person. So I have made up my mind to follow the man and see where he goes."

"But that's all nonsense," expostulated Curt. "I have no doubt you are right about the fellow's character and intentions, and all that, but our best plan will be to return at once, and let Torpetus attend to the rest."

Val shook his head.

"No," he said, quickly. "It maybe too late then. By following this man now I can find out how many are in the party and where they have their camp. The information will be valuable in case the traps are disturbed or stolen at any time."

Curt reluctantly admitted the truth of this.

"Shall I go with you," he asked, "or return to the cabin? They are looking for us back by this time."

"Neither," responded Val, "Stay right here. This matter is of more importance than blazing timber or getting bait for traps. I would take you along, but it is a delicate task, and two will make more noise than one. Wait by this log, and if I don't return in an hour or two hours at the most—"

Val paused and seemed to be in a brown study.

"Well, what then?" asked Curt.

"Why, you can come after me, I suppose. It's not likely that you will have to do that, though. I maybe back in much less than an hour. But I am losing precious time, Curt. The fellow is some distance ahead, now."

It was evident that Val's wish to have his companion remain in the vicinity was prompted by a secret, fear that his quest might lead to a disagreeable termination.

But Curt was not quick-witted enough to divine this. He was out ot heart with the whole business, but he nevertheless acceded to Val's request.

"All right," he answered. "I'll wait two hours, and, if you don't turn up then, I'll follow your trail. If Torpetus is angry about this delay, you'll take the blame, remember."

"Willingly," agreed Val. "Good-by. I'm off."

He shouldered his rifle, and strode briskly up the bank of the stream.

Curt watched him until he vanished in the woods, and then he sat down on the log. It was too cold to remain inactive, so he began to pace up and down the bit of open space. He was not in a very happy mood. He knew that the trapper would be vexed at their failure to return on time, as it would totally upset the arrangements for the day.

He was also uneasy about Val, and more than half-regretted that he had not insisted on going with him.

Absorbed in these reflections, the time went by more rapidly than Curt supposed, and upon looking at his watch, he was surprised to find that an hour and a half had elapsed since Val's departure.

"Thirty minutes yet to wait," he muttered. "I hope he'll come before the time is up. I don't fancy the idea of going after him."

Bang! The faint, unmistakable crack of a rifle echoed sullenly through the forest.

Curt turned pale.

"What can that mean?" he asked himself aloud. "Either Val has shot at something or some one, or he is signaling for me to come."

The vague fear that something terrible had happened would force itself upon Curt's mind, and he could not shake it off. But he was a stout-hearted, courageous boy, and did not shrink from the responsibility thus thrust upon him.

It is true that his first impulse was to hurry back to the cabin for assistance, but, on second thought, he realized the necessity of prompt action. He thrust the bunch of game into the crotch of a big tree and started off on a run, rifle in hand.

There was little to guide Curt, beyond the simple knowledge that Val had gone up the stream and that the rifle shot came from the same direction.

He judged that the latter was fired at a distance of not less than two miles. It was a still, clear morning, and sound traveled rapidly.

An Indian could no doubt have followed Val's track with unerring sagacity, but Curt's knowledge of woodcraft included no such power.

The soil was not of a nature to retain the mark of footsteps, and, what slight traces of Val's course might have existed on withered grass or frosty twigs, Curt had not the time to seek out. Even the snow, which lay here and there in patches, was too hard-frozen to receive any impression.

With only his own instinct, then, to guide him, Curt moved rapidly up the bank of the Allogash—as rapidly as the rugged surroundings of the stream would permit, for in places the timber and bushes were very dense and the path was obstructed by huge rocks.

He did not give himself a breathing spell until, as near as he could calculate, he had covered a mile and a half. Then he stopped for a moment, and, on making a careful scrutiny of a bit of marshy soil, was relieved to find the imprint of a boot on the frozen mud and water. This proved conclusively that he was bound in the proper direction.

He started off anew, finding the country even more rugged as he advanced.

The neighborhood was new to him, and he by no means liked its looks. The mountains seemed higher, the thickets more dense and gloomy.

He kept his rifle ready for quick use, half-fearing that some wild animal would suddenly take shape in the shadows ahead of him; but even a deeper fear lurked in Curt's heart as he penetrated still farther the lonely headwaters of the Allogash.

The very silence of the vast wilderness was oppressive; no chirp of bird or cry of beast was audible.

He pushed on unfalteringly, and at last, emerging from the bushes into a little open glade by the stream side, strewn with rocks and drift debris, he came upon the scattered evidence of a struggle—a drift of hard snow, tramped to powdery flakes and dented in one place by the fall of some heavy body, a clump of bent and broken bushes, and, more convincing than all, Val's cap lying in the hollow of two rocks; but where was the missing Val himself?

CHAPTER X

Curt's heart beat quickly with dread as he bent over these plain evidences of a fierce encounter. It was useless to conjecture its cause or results—the fact remained that Val had overtaken the stranger, that they had struggled together, and that both had now disappeared.

The gunshot was the most mysterious feature of the affair, for there was no evidence to show that any one had been wounded.

A brief scrutiny showed Curt all there was to be seen in the open glade. He then examined, with much fear and hesitation, the surrounding thickets and the crannies among the rocks, and looked shudderingly into the black depths of the stream, which at this point was narrow and still. But the rocks and the water preserved their secret well, if they had any to preserve; so Curt desisted from his search and shouted Val's name with all his might two or three times. A mocking echo came back, that was all.

"It would have been wiser to have made no noise," he thought, as he seated himself on a rock to consider the situation. "If Val has been carried off, it is important that my presence here should not be known. I'm going to look on the bright side of affairs until something positive turns up to the contrary."

Two plans of action suggested themselves to Curt during the brief time that he sat there.

His first impulse was to make all speed back to the cabin and procure the assistance of Toke and the trapper in the search. But a little reflection convinced him that this would be unwise.

"No; it won't do," he said to himself. "Too much valuable time will be wasted. My best plan will be to follow up the Allogash and learn, if possible, where Val has been taken. I must move very cautiously to avoid discovery myself, though. If I find that Val is a prisoner, and that I can't do anything to help him single-handed, then it will be time to return to the cabin for the others."

Curt had no doubt that Val and his captor, if such were their relations, had gone on up the stream. Otherwise, he argued, he must have encountered them, for the Allogash lay in a deep ravine, and the only accessible path was along the water's edge.

The stream was so rapid and was fed by such cold springs, that, in spite of the severe weather, the only ice on its surface was a thin rim along the banks.

It required but a brief time for the boy to make up his mind on these points. In five minutes after his entry into the glade, he was pushing his way up the stream again, going deeper and deeper into the desolate region that forms the source of the Allogash.

He advanced slowly and cautiously, scrutinizing every bit of open before he entered it, and stopping at frequent intervals to listen.

The stream grew more narrow and turbulent, the mountains shadowed it more darkly, and the forest and the gaunt, gray rocks crept closer to the banks.

Curt's watch had stopped, but he knew by the location of the sun that it was long past noon.

An hour went by, and then another, but no trace of the missing youth came to the eyes or ears of the anxious searcher.

Gradually the unwelcome conviction forced itself upon Curt's mind that his task was almost as hopeless as hunting for a needle in a haystack. A regiment of men could find secure hiding-places in this lonely section of the country.

The sinking sun warned him that night was close at hand. He had covered a good many miles, and he knew that it would require every minute of daylight that yet remained to make the return trip to the cabin, and to accomplish even this he would have to start immediately.

He was greatly reluctant to leave Val's fate in mystery, but now that his undertaking had failed, he realized that the wisest plan was to hurry back to White Deer Pond at once.

With the aid of Rolf, whose keenness of scent was almost equal to that of a bloodhound, he knew that his missing comrade's whereabouts must be ultimately discovered.

Curt repressed an imprudent inclination to shout, and after making a mental note of some landmarks in the vicinity, so that he would know the place again, he turned and hurried briskly down the stream.

He had no intention of retracing his steps by the way he came. He had a fair knowledge of the geography of the country and knew that he could reach White Deer Pond by heading due southeast, otherwise several miles would be added to his tramp.

So he followed the Allogash for a short distance, and then struck up the hill that lay on his left.

From the summit he had an extensive view of countless mountain ridges and peaks, bounded by a dim haze that made the desolate expanse seem inimitable.

He did not linger to enjoy the prospect, for the sun was much nearer the western horizon than he had supposed.

He hastily took his bearings, and, turning his back on the gloomy forest that had the secret of Val's disappearance, hurried down the eastern slope of the hill.

The dread of being overtaken by darkness lent Curt speed. He hastened on and on, up one hill and down another, slipping and sliding over rocks, leaping from boulder to boulder, and forcing his way on a trot through brambles and thickets and dismal stretches of pine forest.

But the shadows deepened and the evening air grew sharp and stinging. At twilight he was ascending a more than commonly steep hill, and when he gained the crest he had not the least idea as to where he was.

There was still a lingering streak of red to the west, but the eastern horizon, which lay before him, was hid in a murky grayness.

"What I feared is come to pass," he muttered. "Darkness is at hand, and the cabin still some distance away."

With the approach of night the beasts of the forest crept out from their lairs, and as Curt hurried recklessly down the slope in the deepening gloom he heard strange faraway cries.

The hill which the boy now found himself descending was rather remarkable in its formation. It consisted of a series of granite terraces or ledges one above the other and the intervals between them were masses of loose rock and thickets of pine timber.

It was little short of miraculous that Curt sustained no serious injury as he made his way from ledge to ledge in the dim light. The loose stones clattered about his feet, and to save himself from falling he was more than once compelled to jump blindly forward.

In one of these leaps, taken when he was half way down the hill, he miscalculated the distance, and landed pretty heavily on the next terrace below him.

The concussion forced him to his hands and knees, and as he remained in that position for a few seconds, slightly stunned, he discovered a long, black orifice in the face of the cliff by his side.

At the same instant his nostrils detected a, peculiar musty odor, and when he bent closer to examine some little white objects that were lying on the ledge, and picked several of them up in his hand, he was horrified to find that they were the clean-picked bones of some small animal.

The shock of this discovery sent a chill through Curt from head to foot. He rose, trembling in every limb, and looked fearfully about him. He knew too well the significance of the bones and the musty smell. The hollow in the cliff was the den of some wild beast, probably a catamont or a panther.

For a full minute Curt was too terrified to move or breathe. The savage beast might even then be sleeping in its lair or lurking near by in the pine thickets.

When he found himself still-unmolested, after the lapse of the longest minute he had ever spent, Curt moved on tiptoe to the edge of the terrace and began the descent of the next slope.

He trembled at his own footsteps, and at every rustle among the trees, and when a loosened stone slipped away, with a ringing clatter, he gasped with alarm and drew up his rifle.

He breathed easier when he gained the next ledge, though he felt by no means safe. He had little doubt that the proprietor of the cavern was the same hungry creature that had sought to make a meal of Val.

He knew that the noise of his fall would almost certainly have roused the animal had it been sleeping in its den, and therefore, he reasoned, he stood a good chance of encountering it on the way to the cabin.

Two more ledges Curt passed in safety, but as he drew near the third he was so unfortunate as to drop his rifle by knocking it against a tree.

The weapon slid away in the darkness, and, though Curt searched diligently among the stones and timber for five minutes or more, he could not find it. Unfortunately, he did not have a match in his pocket.

It was now quite dark, and though Curt was loth to abandon the search, he dared not remain longer.

It was hazardous to go on through the forest unarmed, but he finally chose this as the lesser of two evils.

The free use of both hands permitted him to make better progress than before, and in a short time he reached the base of the hill, after passing three more terraces.

He had a glimmering idea that he was near some familiar locality, as he pushed on through a strip of bushes and pine trees, seeking some landmark by which he could recover his rifle on the morrow.

This belief was speedily confirmed. As he emerged on more open ground he was overjoyed to see the massive bulk of Red Rock towering far over his head. He had reached the western border of the marsh.

The two miles that yet separated him from the cabin seemed a mere bagatelle to Curt, now that he knew exactly where he was. He was so impatient to rejoin his friends that he decided to cross the centre of the marsh instead of circling around its nearest end.

A little reflection might have shown him the peril of this course, but he did not stop to think. Acting on first impulse and relying on his knowledge of the existing path, he struck boldly ahead.

All went well for the first thirty yards. His feet passed lightly over the frozen surface, and every leap he made landed him on firm soil. Then he became slightly confused, and in trying to discern the proper path he blundered into mud and water up to his knees.

All efforts to regain firm ground proved futile, and, after floundering about for a few minutes he plunged waist-deep into a half-frozen morass of sticky mud.

Here he stuck fast. His frantic struggles only served to force him deeper. He realized that he was in a pretty bad plight, and, as he stopped his exertions to regain breath, a long, wailing cry echoed across the swamp and chilled his blood with terror.

CHAPTER XI

That dismal cry added tenfold to the horror of Curt's position. He felt sure that the panther was prowling about the edge of the marsh, and had probably already scented him. If the creature came closer his chance of escape was slim, for he had nothing to defend himself with.

Ah! how earnestly he longed for his rifle at that moment.

Again and again the wailing cry was heard, and assuredly it sounded closer each time.

Then there was a brief interval of deep silence, and, as Curt ceased struggling and looked fearfully into the darkness, he saw a pair of shining eyes staring into his own, at a distance of not more than half a dozen yards.

This terrible discovery and the utter futility of escape, destroyed the boy's last spark of courage.

He made the surrounding forest ring with, piercing calls for help, and struggled frantically to drag his feet from the oozy bed of mud.

But only the quavering echoes of his voice came back, and every movement caused him to sink the deeper.

As he relinquished his efforts in despair, the panther uttered a blood-curdling snarl and bounded over the tufts of grass until it was within two yards of its helpless victim.

There it crouched, flat on a log, growling softly, as though it could not make up its mind right away to plunge into the mud and water, even for the sake of such a tempting feast. The big, yellow eyes were staring balefully into Curt's own.

He could see the creature's long, graceful shape and hear the light pat-pat of its tail as it beat the log, and the ripping sound made by the sharp foreclaws that were viciously splintering the rotten wood.

The brief time that Curt and the panther were thus face-to-face, seemed an eternity to the boy. Each second he expected the beast to pounce upon him, and the anticipation of those terrible teeth and claws was as painful as would have been the actual reality itself.

It was useless to struggle, for he was now deeper in the mud than ever, and when he tried to shout no sound came from his lips. He could only wait, in helpless silence, for the end.

Had the situation been allowed to take its natural course, the termination would certainly have made one character the less in this story; but just when the beast's rage and hunger had gained the supremacy over its dislike to the mud, and it was in the act of making a final leap, the loud baying of a dog rang out from the eastern side of the marsh.

That this particular panther was a prudent animal has been shown on previous occasions, and now he still further justified his reputation by vanishing at once, with a snarl of baffled fury.

The spell was broken, and, with a dim realization that aid was at hand, Curt shouted with all his might.

Two voices replied from the edge of the marsh, and then Rolf's gaunt figure went past in flying leaps.

Curt's shouting guided the rescue party in their tedious trip over the marsh, but they reached the spot without accident or delay, and Curt was indeed a thankful boy, when he saw Toke and the trapper bending over him.

With infinite trouble, and not without getting knee-deep into the mud themselves, they pulled him out on firm ground.

"They pulled him out on firm ground."

"That hungry beast will get away with one of us yet," declared the trapper. "I reckon you had a narrow escape, lad; but how on airth did you get into this fix, and where is your companion?"

Curt made a husky effort to speak, and then burst into tears.

"There, there, now," said the trapper, soothingly; "take your own time, lad! Don't talk till you feel able."

He turned aside and gave a couple of sharp whistles, which speedily brought Rolf back from the western edge of the swamp. The hound's hair was on end, and he uttered short, gruff barks.

Nothing could be seen or heard of the panther. It had probably retreated to its den on the terraced slope of the mountain.

By this time Curt had succeeded in choking down his emotion sufficiently to talk. Though shivering with cold and weakness, he managed to give his companions a clear account of all that had happened to him that day, nor did he omit the slightest detail.

As the narrative progressed, Torpetus gave vent to frequent exclamations of amazement, and, when the last word was spoken, his face was a study of mingled incredulity and bewilderment.

"In the years as I've tramped these woods I've knowed a heap of strange things," he muttered; "but this beats them all. It's so queer that I won't pretend to give any opinion about it till I look into the matter myself, and that's just what is going to be done now. That sneaking panther can be attended to any time, now that we know where he has a den. But you can't go with us," he added to Curt. "We'll have to take you back to the cabin."

Much against his will, Curt was compelled to assent to this. He was thoroughly worn out by his long wanderings, and knew that he could never keep up with his companions in the hard tramp that was ahead of them.

"I can find my wav to the cabin alone," he said, huskily, "You must not waste any time if you want to save Val. Push on ahead, and never mind about me."

"No, no, Curt," said the trapper. "I admire your grit, but it won't do. You're half frozen now, and, as like as not, you'd drop over insensible before you got halfway to the cabin. And it won't put us much out of the way, anyhow, if we go back with you. It would be no use in our cutting across country the way you came; it's ten to one we'd lose ourselves in the darkness. No; our best plan is this: We'll take you to the cabin and leave you there. Then we'll cut straight to the Allogash at the point where you and Val separated. From there we'll strike the trail, you see, and I'll wager my best shooting piece that before the night is many hours older this hound leads us to the spot where Val has been taken."

The trapper's logic was unanswerable, and, without delay, the party started back to the cabin, crossing the marsh by the friendly light of the lantern. Curt managed to walk without assistance, though it was positive pain for him to drag one foot after the other.

On the way he was informed by his companions of the startling events that had occurred during his absence. It was all the more a surprise to him because it confirmed what Val had suggested that morning—namely, that the stranger who passed up the Allogash had confederates, and that their presence in the vicinity was a menace to the occupants of the cabin.

It's been a day of wonderful surprises," said Torpetus, "and everyone of us has had his share in them. That column of smoke led me a wild goose chase, and, while I was fooling away time, the cabin was robbed and Toke pretty near chewed up by the panther. Then Val was kidnapped, and, to wind up, you mighty near made a meal for the same beast that was after Toke. Yes, it's been a most amazing day. But are you sure the party you was after didn't come down the stream again without your knowing it, Curt?" he asked, suddenly.

"I wouldn't say so, absolutely," replied Curt; "but I am pretty well convinced that you will find him somewhere about the headwaters of the Allogash."

"Oh, well; Rolf will settle that point when we reach the spot where the cap was found," rejoined Torpetus.

A few moments later they arrived at the cabin and found everything as it had been left.

Curt was hurried into dry clothes and provided with plenty to eat and a pot of steaming hot coffee.

"I reckon you'll be all right now," said Torpetus. "You had better get to bed and stay there. Lock the door and the windows from the inside, and make your mind easy. Don't be worried if we're not back by morning, for we may have a long chase, and, when we do return, we'll bring Val back with us. Just cheer yourself with that, Curt.

It was nearly ten o'clock when Toke and the trapper started away from the cabin for the second time that night.

As on the previous occasion, Rolf instantly broke away on the trail of the two outlaws. Torpetus paused and whistled him back; then, as the hound reluctantly returned, the trapper turned to Toke with a short laugh.

"I reckon my wits have gone astray tonight, lad!" he exclaimed. "That dog is sharper than either of us. As sure as my name is Torpetus Macbean these two robbers and the fellow what kidnapped Val are in league, and by this time they have joined each other. If we let Rolf follow this trail the hound will take us right where we want to go. By carrying out the other plan and going up the Allogash we're liable to tack a dozen useless miles on to our tramp, for, between you and me, I believe that the stranger what kidnapped Val turned and come down the stream again without Curt knowing it. Mark my words, Toke, I believe that column of smoke had a meaning, and it's over by Long Pond we'll find the parties we're after."

Toke thoroughly coincided with the trapper's views, and Rolf was immediately put on the trail of the two robbers.

At first the hound led them to the southwest, but a mile or more from the cabin he turned due south, and from this course he did not once deviate.

The scent was just imperfect enough to keep the dog on a slow trot, and Toke and the trapper had no difficulty in keeping pace with him.

It was necessary to have the light of the lantern, for it was a very dark night, and the path was of the most rugged description.

Hour after hour they pushed on with unflagging steps. The trapper felt no weariness, and Toke was ashamed to show his.

"We've traveled a good eight or ten miles," said Torpetus, at length ; "and from the direction in which we've kept headed—I can tell by the stars, you know, lad—it's pretty certain that Long Pond ain't far away. I think it would be a good idea to put out the light now. We don't want to blunder into any kind of a trap.

Torpetus paused to carry out his suggestion.

"Come here, Rolf," he whispered, sharply. "Don't be in such a hurry."

But for once the hound did not obey his master's command. He dashed on more rapidly than ever, with his nose to the ground, and vanished in the darkness.

A full minute passed, during which Torpetus whistled several times in vain; then the dog began to bay hoarsely from a considerable distance, and the next instant a sharp report echoed through the forest.

CHAPTER XII

In order to properly wind up the events of this most remarkable day we must return to Val and trace the steps which led to his disappearance.

When he left his companion and started up the Allogash he probably had a deeper motive than the mere dogging of the stranger's footsteps, though, at the same time, he was perfectly sincere in what he said to Curt.

If the reader will take his memory back to the night of Val's adventure at the bridge over Mehoopany Creek the young schoolmaster's ulterior object may be divined, for the stranger whom he wished to follow was none other than Gabriel Riderhood.

This man, as has been shown, was an escaped convict, who, by a strange combination of circumstances, was believed by the prison authorities and by the public at large to be dead.

The reader already has a slight clue to Riderhood's presence in the vicinity. As to the convict's past history, the causes which brought his companions to this lonely region, the secret of the lost box, and the link which connects Valentine Stanlock with this mysterious affair—all will be fully explained in good time.

After parting from Curt, Val walked rapidly for five or ten minutes, as the nature of the land permitted him to see some distance ahead. Then, when he knew that the stranger could not be very far in advance, he slackened his pace and crept along with the utmost caution.

"I wouldn't come face to face with Riderhood for a good deal," he said to himself. "Still, I don't believe he would know me. I have changed considerably in the last four years. I knew him, though, as soon as I saw him coming up the creek. I have no doubt he is on the way to join his companions now. It seems strange they should have a camp in this direction. I expected to find him in the vicinity of Long Pond or White Deer Pond."

Suddenly a thought of so startling a nature occurred that he stopped short in his careful walk.

"Perhaps Riderhood is looking for the box along this very stream!" he exclaimed, aloud. "I might have thought of that before. On a snowy winter's night a man could easily mistake the edge of the Allogash for a pond. Well, in either event it is important that I should follow him. So here goes."

He started off again, moving slowly and cautiously, and stopping at frequent intervals to listen. For nearly an hour he pushed on up the stream in this tedious manner, but without getting a single glimpse or encountering the least sign of Riderhood.

In spite of the utmost caution, he made some noise in tramping over the frozen patches of snow and pushing through thickets and brambles. This was very unfortunate, as after events proved.

A more than usually dense bit of small trees and bushes caused Val to stop and reconnoitre. Not hearing the least sound, he moved cautiously ahead, parting the bushes in front of him and retaining his hold until they slipped back into place.

A few steps brought him to the verge of an open glade. It was entirely empty, and, without a thought of fear, he advanced across the centre. As he looked keenly to right and left, he was startled to see a figure crouching behind a big rock by the edge of the stream.

One thing might have saved Val, even at this critical time. Riderhood—for the hidden man could be none other—was doubtless as anxious to avoid a meeting as was Val himself, and had the latter passed on, pretending not to see the crouching figure, he would have remained in hiding and made no hostile move.

Val was quick-witted enough to understand this, but the sudden shock of the discovery unnerved him, and his pretense of unconsciousness proved a failure. He paused with a jerk, made a few halting steps, and then, with trembling hands, pulled up his rifle in an attitude of defense.

The figure behind the rock rose instantly, revealing the tall stature and sullen features of Riderhood, and in an instant Val was staring into a little black muzzle.

The situation was an interesting one. Val knew Riderhood, but whether the latter would recognize him was a momentous question—a more terrible one, indeed, than Val was yet able to realize.

"Put that weapon down," commanded Riderhood, sternly.

Val instantly lowered his rifle.

"Now," continued the convict, "what do you mean by dogging my footsteps in this way, young man? I've had you in sight behind me for some time past, and now you've fallen into the trap."

This was not true, for the noise made by Val in pushing through the thicket that bordered the glade had apprised Riderhood of his approach.

But Val did not know this. He believed the convict, and he bitterly repented of his imprudence in blundering into the snare set for him.

He looked the picture of confusion, as he vainly racked his brain for some plausible excuse.

"What do you mean by this?" repeated Riderhood. "The country hereabouts is free, isn't it? Don't attempt to deny that you were following me, for it won't do."

"I—I don't deny it," stammered Val, trying to look as unconcerned as possible. "I —I only wanted to see who you were. We have traps set along the stream, and—and—"

He paused, fearing that his efforts to explain had led him into worse difficulties.

He ventured to look at Riderhood, but the latter's face was inscrutable and told him nothing.

Nevertheless, the convict was fully alive to the danger of his position. It is true that Val's attitude left him at fault. Though keenly suspicious, he was by no means sure that his identity was known to, or even suspected by the youth.

On the other hand, Val was far from believing, what was actually the case, that Riderhood had recognized him instantly. Four years had changed Val to some extent, but not sufficiently to defy recognition from those who had known him intimately prior to that time.

"You are an impudent fellow," continued Riderhood, after a brief pause. "You jumped to the conclusion that, because I happened to pass up the stream, I had designs on your traps. Well, I will satisfy your curiosity. My name is Luke Willson, and I am a trapper myself by occupation. Did you ever hear of me before?"

"No," replied Val, truthfully enough; "I never did."

Unfortunately the convict's glib words caused a faint smile of incredulity to hover about the corner of Val's mouth.

This slight sign did not escape Riderhood. He divined instantly that his identity had been discovered, and he was not slow to realize that it would be the greatest mistake of his life if he permitted Val to depart in free possession of this dangerous piece of information.

He glanced carelessly at Val for a second or two, and then said, in a gruff voice:

"I'll let you off this time, young fellow, but I warn you not to meddle with me in future. Shoulder your weapon, now, and light out, quick!"

Val needed no second urging. Without a word, he dropped his rifle over his shoulder and started briskly across the open. He had taken barely half a dozen steps, when Riderhood bounded lightly forward and sprang on him from behind.

The violence of the assault threw Val to the ground, and his enemy fell heavily on top of him.

But Val was an agile, wiry fellow, and, by a quick effort, he twisted from under Riderhood, and rising to his feet he dashed away. Had he gained the thicket he might have escaped, but a loose stone tripped him and down he came.

In the fall his rifle struck a rock and was discharged. Val himself was somewhat stunned, and when he tried to rise he discovered that his left wrist was sprained.

Riderhood was upon him instantly, and Val quietly submitted, knowing it would be useless to struggle. He was terribly scared, for he no longer doubted that the convict knew him.

Riderhood lifted his captive to his feet, and twisted him roughly around so that they were face to face.

Val's horrified features and the convict's expression of blended anger and fear precluded the possibility of either mistaking the identity of the other.

"It's you, is it?" cried Riderhood, sternly. "You fool, did you suppose I would let you get away from here as easily as you came? You're a sharp one, but not sharp enough for me. I heard you coming and was on my guard, and as soon as I saw you put foot in the open I knew what you were after. I knew you had seen me before and recognized me. That's the truth, isn't it? There need be no concealment between us. Speak out!"

Val nodded his head in reply. He was so badly frightened that he could hardly speak.

"What are you doing in this part of the country?" pursued Riderhood. "And how did you happen to get on my track?"

The convict's manner was so fierce and determined that Val dared not refuse to answer.

In faltering tones and with many interruptions, he gave Riderhood to understand that he had overheard the conversation from the bridge that night.

At this point the convict interrupted him.

"So it was you gave us that fright," he muttered, grimly. "It's well we didn't overtake you. You heard all that was said, I suppose, and came up here to hunt me out."

"I saw you quite by accident this morning," replied Val, evasively. "I am camping in the vicinity with some friends."

A faint smile flitted across Riderhood's face.

"Ah, ha!" he said. "I think I see through it all now. You are a smart youth, and I give you credit for your shrewdness. Instead of making use of the information you got by your eavesdropping that night, and putting the officers of the law on my track, you kept your own counsel and came up here to dog my footsteps on the sly. You hoped to follow me about until I found the lost box, and then hand me over to the officers. That's the way of it. Don't try to deny it."

Val trembled in his captor's grasp, and turned white to the lips, thus confirming Riderhood's theory.

He gave Val a little shake.

"Your companions know nothing of this affair, do they?" he demanded, eagerly.

"No," replied Val, sullenly.

He was sorry the next instant that he had given this affirmative answer. It suddenly flashed across him with overwhelming force and terror that he had shattered the last and only link that secured his safety—that, by his own admission he was the only one who knew that Gabriel Riderhood was alive instead of occupying a convict's grave.

For the second time that day Val had fallen into a cleverly-laid trap.

Riderhood's face gleamed with triumph.

"You are in my power," he said, vindictively. "I hate you for your father's sake. I scored accounts with him four years ago, and now it is your turn." Val uttered a sharp cry, and by a violent effort tore away from Riderhood. He started to ran, but his relentless enemy quickly overhauled him and threw him roughly to the ground.

CHAPTER XIII

"You can't give me the slip!" muttered Riderhood, as he pounced on Val and bore him more firmly against the ground by the weight of his knee. Val made no outcry. He was stunned by the fall, and his breast and face were jammed forcibly against a patch of frozen snow. Riderhood drew a bunch of cords from his pocket and quickly and tightly bound his captive's hands and feet. Then he lifted Val partially upright, and, placing one hand securely across his mouth, began to drag him toward the water.

Val was utterly helpless, and the concentrated agony of that moment was almost enough to have driven him mad.

But whatever the terrible object Riderhood had in view, he did not carry it out. When within a few feet of the brink of the stream, he suddenly stopped and looked behind him. Prudence was getting the better of his insane rage.

He noted at a sweeping glance the telltale condition of the glade—the broken bushes, the trampled patches of snow ; then he removed his hand from Val's mouth and dragged him to his feet.

"Was any one with you this morning?" he demanded, sternly. "Answer me, quick!"

With a great effort, Val gave a stammering reply:

"Yes, my companion must be looking for me now. He will soon be here. If you do me any harm you will surely be found out."

Riderhood laughed harshly:

"I'm not afraid of that. I'll make short work of anybody that interferes with me. Still—"

He did not finish what he was going to say. He dropped Val roughly to the ground, and, holding his mouth shut with one hand, he produced with the other a grimy-looking handkerchief. He quickly rolled this into a wad and thrust it between Val's lips, thus silencing him most effectively.

After this operation, Riderhood stood for a moment in a brown study. Whatever may have been the knotty problem that was taxing his brain it was quickly decided.

He unbuttoned his coat and tore out a long strip of the dark-gray lining. He folded this into a narrow band and pressed it against Val's eyes, tying the ends tightly on the back of his head. Then he drew a knife from his pocket and severed the cords that bound the prisoner's ankles.

This showed conclusively that Riderhood's first intentions concerning his captive had undergone a change.

His next move was to drag Val to his feet and pick up both rifles; then, with a hurried survey of the glade, he started toward the upper end, pushing Val in front of him by the shoulder.

In his haste, Riderhood forgot all about Val's missing cap—which had fallen between two rocks in such a manner as to escape observation.

He continued up the Allogash for the space of twenty or thirty yards, until he reached a point where the stream was very shallow and brawled among pebbles and ledges of rock. Here he paused long enough to hoist Val over his right shoulder.

Then, without hesitation, he plunged into the water, which came only half way to the top of his boots, and gained the opposite bank by long strides.

Riderhood was a powerful man, but he was compelled to stop for a short breathing spell, after placing his burden down. It was no light undertaking to shoulder a young fellow of Val's size and carry him safely across a stream.

It is difficult to understand why Riderhood did not make his prisoner wade, since Val's boots were equally as stout as his own.

Perhaps he hoped to deceive him. If such was the case, he might have spared himself the trouble, for Val had heard the soft gurgle of the water beneath him and knew exactly what it meant.

Riderhood's delay was brief. He moved off again, linking his left arm in Val's right, though in what direction the latter could not guess.

From this time on Val was totally confused, and, as may be imagined, his state of mind was unenviable, for it was only too plain that Riderhood had some foul object in view.

His bandaged eyes and fettered wrists made Val's situation still more distressing. He was hurried along at a brisk pace, and though he frequently stumped his feet on logs and stones, and was scratched in the face by thorny bushes, the man's strong arm always prevented him from falling.

During the first stage of the journey a steep hill was ascended, and as the path continued level from this point, instead of going down the opposite slope, Val concluded that Riderhood was following the crest of the wooded ridge which lay parallel with the Allogash.

The occasional distant murmur of water seemed to confirm this opinion, and also to indicate that their course was down stream, for the sound always reached Val's ear from the left.

Riderhood now slackened his gait, probably because of the rugged nature of the ground, but all through that long afternoon and evening he tramped on persistently without a single stop, guiding his weary captive by his side.

The time seemed to Val twice as long as it really was, and he felt sure that morning could not be far off when Riderhood at length halted.

He heard the musical rush of water at no great distance, and surmised that they were still in the vicinity of the Allogash.

Riderhood's first act was to plump Val down on a mossy log, with a stern injunction to "stay there."

This was quite unnecessary, for Val had no desire to escape in his present condition—blindfolded, gagged and with fettered arms. He was only afraid that Riderhood would abandon him in this dreadful plight. Cold chills ran down his back as he heard footsteps moving softly away from him.

But in a moment he was reassured, for Riderhood stopped and gave a shrill whistle. It was answered almost immediately by a similar signal. Then all was silent for a little while, and Val waited in suspense for the outcome of this strange proceeding.

The next instant he heard a sound that made his heart throb with joy. From a distance came the sharp, angry bark of a dog. Val felt certain that it was Rolf, and he knew that the trapper could not be far behind.

His spirits rose at the hope of rescue, but the next instant that hope was rudely shattered. A gunshot echoed through the forest, and the barking of the hound suddenly ceased. It was only too plain that some miscreant had shot the faithful animal.

A whistle from the distance was answered by Riderhood, and presently a crackling of twigs and bushes indicated the coming of the stranger or strangers.

It is a well-known fact that, if a man loses one or two of his senses, the others become preternaturally keen. This is nature's law of compensation, and it exemplified itself to some extent in Val. The young schoolmaster could neither see nor speak, but his sense of hearing was unusually good at the present time, and by paying close attention he overheard a conversation, which the speakers believed to be out of reach of his ears.

The new arrivals were two in number. Their heavy footsteps told Val this.

"What kept you so long?" asked one of them, gruffly.

He was panting hard for breath, and Val recognized the speaker, by his voice, as the man who accompanied Riderhood to Mehoopany that night.

"Hush!" warned Riderhood. "Don't talk so loud. I have a prisoner over there. But what is the matter? Whose dog did you shoot at?"

"I don't know," replied the first speaker; "unless it belonged—to—those—boys over at White Deer Pond. I put a piece of lead in the noisy brute, and if there's anybody on our track, it'll serve as a warning to 'em. But you've kept me and Tucker waiting a mighty long while. And what do you mean by having a prisoner? You ain't done no such foolish thing as that, I hope?"

"It was necessary," answered Riderhood, curtly. "This is no time to explain matters. That dog's master, whoever he is, can't be far away. We must get out of this double quick. But where did you get all that plunder?" he added, in a tone of surprise.

Both men began to reply at once, but their voices were mingled with so much noise, caused by passing various articles from hand to hand, that Val caught only broken fragments of sentences, such as "supplies for all winter," "guns and ammunition," "only a lot of boys," "we tied his mouth shut and put him in the loft."

But this was quite enough to give Val a clear understanding of the situation. He realized with, a sinking heart that these scoundrels had robbed the cabin and carried away a quantity of things.

It was equally plain that Torpetus and his companions had pursued the thieves, and that the death of poor Rolf now made the chase a dangerous and almost hopeless one. Val's anger and despair were great. In the vain hope of escaping, he twisted and jerked his arms until the strong cords cut into the skin.

He was interrupted by Riderhood who pulled him roughly to his feet and marched him off without a word. The others were in front, as Val knew by hearing their quick tread.

It was evident that the robbers were intensely anxious to conceal their whereabouts, for the utmost caution was observed. They avoided bushes and dry twigs as much as possible, and not a word was spoken.

In this manner a distance of probably a quarter of a mile was traversed. Then a halt was made, and Val knew by the ripple of water that he was standing on the very edge of the Allogash.

After a moment of silence, he heard a swishing sound, as though Riderhood's companions had waded into the stream, and almost immediately, under the guidance of his captor's arm, he found himself doing the same thing. Fortunately, his boots were high and waterproof, and, beyond a chilling numbness, he felt no discomfort.

But it was soon evident that Riderhood's object was not the mere fording of the stream; for he kept on down the channel. The depth proved variable, but at no time did Val get over boot-top.

He could hear the water swirling madly on all sides of him, but it was very shallow and full of sand and gravel bars, and numerous big stones fringed with ice, which broke easily under foot.

For fully twenty minutes this novel journey lasted. Then Riderhood led Val on to a flat, hard substance which the latter knew must be a rock. Whether it stood on shore or in mid-stream, it was impossible to tell. A cutting wind blew fiercely in his face, and yet the groaning and rustling of trees which always attend a forest gale were not audible.

Val had little time to wonder at this. Still stranger things were at hand. No word was spoken, but he heard a bumping noise and a dull splash on the water. Then he was lifted from his feet and dropped lightly on a wooden seat.

"Don't stir as you value your life," muttered Riderhood. "You will fall out."

Val obeyed this injunction, he knew instantly that he was in a boat, and a feeling of curiosity began to share his fear.

Riderhood seated himself apparently close in front of his prisoner. The others brushed past, causing the boat to tip with their weight, and dropped their burden of plunder with as little noise as possible.

Then a paddle began to beat the water with quick, regular strokes, and the boat moved away from the rock with a swift, swinging motion.

This was the strangest part of the memorable experiences that Val had passed through that day. He would have given much for a brief opportunity to use his eyesight, or a chance to question his captors. He knew not where he was going, or what awaited him at the journey's end. There was something weird and uncanny in this cruising down strange waters with companions whom he could not see and who maintained ghostly silence.

The sensation made his flesh creep, and he shuddered violently at the sudden thought that the boat might upset.

He pushed his feet as far apart as he could, the better to balance himself, and sat rigidly upright on the seat. Brief spells of dizziness passed through his head, and each successive one terrified him the more. He feared he would topple off into the water.

The boat went on and on with the same gentle swinging motion, and the silence was broken by only two sounds—the rush of the wind and the slight splash of the paddle as it sank and rose.

Val's various conjectures as to where he was only threw his mind into greater confusion. The fact that the wind was unaccompanied by the rustling of trees, that no dashing or babbling of water was heard, and that the boat moved serenely on its course without striking or grounding—all these things were against the theory that the boat was drifting down the Allogash. Indeed, Val had missed the noisy brawling of the stream long before he finished wading.

On the other hand, he could not conceive how Long Pond—into which he knew the Allogash emptied—could help being frozen from shore to shore in the face of this long-continued severe weather. He had never seen Long Pond but he supposed it was just like other ponds.

If the boat was not on the Allogash or on the surface of Long Pond, where then was it?

Val gave the problem up and began to concern himself with a more pertinent question—his own probable fate.

He was thus unpleasantly occupied when a sudden jolt and a grating sound apprised him that the boat had struck something; then a heavy hand was clapped on the back of his head, forcing it down against his knees, and, in this position, he felt the boat move forward with a series of jerks and starts.

He heard a grating noise and an incessant rustling like the violent swaying of bushes. Something struck him smartly on each ear, and then all was still.

The silence was broken in a second or two by bustle and commotion. A cheerful voice called "Hullo!" and those in the boat answered as they noisily gathered up the guns and packages.

Val knew that his strange ride was over when a strong arm grasped his own and helped him from the boat on to a soft, yielding surface that felt like damp sand.

CHAPTER XIV

We must return now to the trapper and his companion, whose stern chase after the robbers was recounted in a previous chapter. When Rolf dashed ahead of his master with angry barks and was silenced the next moment by a gunshot, Torpetus knew that the dog had discovered the outlaws and had met his death at their hands.

The trapper's anger was more potent than his customary sense of prudence, and, after listening for a moment without hearing any sound, he extinguished the lantern and pushed forward through the gloom, bidding Toke keep well behind him.

More by accident than design, the trapper hit the exact path, for, after traversing thirty or forty yards, he stumbled over the body of the hound:

He was satisfied now that the robbers had left the vicinity and that no danger was to be apprehended from them. So he quickly relit his lantern and bent sorrowfully over the hound, fully believing that he was past all help.

But such was far from the case. Rolf was worth a hundred dead dogs, as he immediately demonstrated by wriggling his limbs and making a feeble effort to rise.

Torpetus uttered a cry of joy, and, on making an examination, discovered that the bullet had struck the dog on top of the skull and instantly glanced off, leaving only a slight skin wound.

"It's all right, lad," he said, eagerly, to Toke. "The dog ain't damaged at all; he was stunned by the shock, but he'll be as good as new afore long, and that's more than these thieving villains can say when I get through with 'em. Stay right 'here, Toke. I'll be back in a minute."

Torpetus took the lantern and reconnoitered the ground as far as the Allogash, which was about fifty yards distant. He returned, and, picking up the dog in his strong arms, started back again, bidding Toke follow.

A free application of cold water from the stream brought Rolf to his full senses in short order, and he trotted about as unconcernedly as though nothing had happened.

He soon scented the trail of the outlaws, and pursued it to the edge of the stream, where he stood barking loudly; but Torpetus called the hound off and stopped his outcry.

"It won't do!" he said to Toke; "If we venture on in the darkness, something worse may happen than the shooting of the dog. On the other hand, thar's no use in tramping all the way back to the cabin, so I reckon we'll fix ourselves here for the night and look about a little when daylight comes."

Torpetus proceeded to carry out his plan by leading the way up the Allogash for a short distance, and then turning off into a deep ravine, which abounded in clusters of huge rocks.

He chose a sheltered, triangular space, hemmed in by massive boulders. It looked very snug and inviting, and it became still more so when the trapper gathered a great quantity of dry branches and built a roaring fire.

He accumulated enough wood to last the night, and then made Toke lie down in the warm corner behind the fire.

"Go to sleep," he said, "and don't be uneasy. The robbers can't see the light of the fire, and in case they should take it into their heads to prowl about, Rolf will give us warning."

"But what are you going to do?" asked Toke. "You won't sit up all night, surely?"

"Oh, don't mind me!" replied Torpetus, "I'll get plenty of rest—never fear!"

The trapper's idea of "plenty of rest" seemed to be short snatches of sleep at long intervals, for through the entire night he kept the fire in a ruddy blaze, and within the circle of its warmth Toke and the hound slept profoundly.

No alarm occurred, and, at the first glimmer of dawn, Torpetus aroused the boy and they went down together to wash their faces in the stream.

"I know you're ravenously hungry, Toke," said the trapper. "I am myself, for that matter, and so is Rolf here; but, as there's no food to be had, we must stand it as best we can. We'll look about a little, and if we don't discover anything, we'll strike for the cabin and hold a consultation."

They left the smoldering fire to burn itself out among the rocks, and went straight to the spot where the trail of the outlaws ended, on the brink of the Allogash.

They waded the stream, with Rolf splashing by their side; and on the opposite bank the hound at once picked up the scent and started off with his nose to the ground.

Toke and the trapper followed in a cautious manner, for the latter was firmly convinced that the robbers had a camp somewhere near.

The hound went directly to the spot where Val had been seated on the log, and then pushed on down the stream for a considerable distance, stopping finally at the very edge of the water.

"Can the rascals have doubled on their track?" asked Torpetus.

Under this impression, he forded the stream, taking Rolf with him; but the hound failed to find the scent on the opposite bank, though the trapper thoroughly scoured the immediate neighborhood, and even went some ways down the stream.

Then Torpetus came back and joined Toke on the other side. The dog was not to blame, for it was only too evident that the trail ended right at the water.

The possibility that the robbers had waded on down the stream now occurred to Torpetus, and he followed its course clear to the shore of Long Pond, going down on one side and then crossing and coming up the other. The pond was obscured by a gray mist, and they could see but a short distance from shore.

But neither at the mouth of the Allogash nor along either bank did Rolf pick up the lost trail. The outlaws had baffled their pursuers in a most mysterious manner.

The trapper was too bewildered for words. He started in at the spot where the trail was lost, and followed it back toward the log.

It was now broad daylight, and on the way he discovered signs which he had overlooked before—slight footprints on a bit of marshy ground and on a strip of frozen snow. But it was impossible to learn from these what Torpetus most desired to know— whether Val and his captor had joined the robbers.

On reaching the log, the trapper halted and surveyed the ground for a moment with a perplexed expression.

Then he turned to Toke.

"Can you find your way back to the cabin alone, lad, do you think?"

"Yes, of course I can!" replied Toke.

He spoke with ill-concealed eagerness, for he was ravenous with hunger and weak for want of food.

"You had better go, then," said Torpetus, "for Curt will be getting uneasy. You're not able to stay with me, because I intend to go up the Allogash to the place where Val's cap was found, and then follow the trail till it ends. The chances are it'll bring me right back to this spot, but I've got to make sure of it all the same. In case I find that Val was with these scoundrels last night, I'll come straight to the cabin, and you may expect me before evening at the latest. Then we'll decide what to do next, and it'll probably end in sending down to the village for assistance. This is a mighty queer business, Toke, and, unless I'm greatly mistaken, there is going to be some lively times around this vicinity afore long. And you are certain now that you can't miss the way to the cabin ?"

Toke emphatically insisted that he knew the direction perfectly, as indeed he did, and without delay he started off on his long tramp, accompanied as far as the other side of the stream by the trapper.

Here they parted, and Torpetus moved briskly up the Allogash, with Rolf at his heels. It did not occur to him to endeavor to find out by the aid of the hound whether any other trail joined that of the robbers in this immediate locality.

He probably would not have succeeded, anyhow; for the two rascals had waited a long time on Riderhood, and had tramped the ground considerably in the neighborhood of the log.

We need not follow Torpetus on his search. He reached the glade where Val had been made prisoner on the previous day, crossed the Allogash, and came back by the wooded ridge that followed the course of the stream.

The scent had been somewhat obliterated over night, but Rolf stuck to it with but few interruptions, and brought his master straight to the log, thus completing the circuit.

The dog would have followed the trail on to the edge of the stream, but the trapper whistled him back, and then sat down on the log for a brief rest.

Tough and wiry as Torpetus was under his weight of years, the hard tramping and long abstinence from food had pretty nearly exhausted him, and the contemplation of the many miles yet to be traversed was not a pleasant one.

It was now late in the afternoon, and he could not afford to waste much time. He had solved the most vitally important question, and demonstrated beyond doubt that Val and his captor had joined the two robbers on the previous night. Beyond that Torpetus did not at present intend to go. He was confident that the outlaws had a camp not far off, but he had no intention of searching for that camp until he could procure a stronger force to assist him. He realized that the situation had assumed a grve aspect, and that the less the boys had to do with the affair, the better it would be for them.

Who these lawless men were, what they wanted in the neighborhood at this time of year, and why they had so daringly kidnapped Val—these were problems that made the old trapper's head reel when he tried to solve them. His brain could wrestle with the knottiest questions of woodcraft, but this was a different matter.

He was thoroughly determined, however that the rascals should be apprehended and punished, and as the initial step in the undertaking, he concluded to go down to Mehoopany on the following day and procure the aid and advice of his friend Peter Bowles, in whose judgment he had unlimited confidence.

It is true that this plan meant a loss of time, but Torpetus did not suppose for a moment that Val was in any personal danger. He reasoned these things out while he was resting on the log.

He was too weary to take a look around the locality as he would have liked to do, so he forded the Allogash and started wearily for the cabin, with the tired hound trotting dispiritedly behind.

The wintry twilight was falling when Torpetus sighted the frozen surface of White Deer Pond, and soon afterwards he was receiving an exuberant greeting from Curt and Toke.

The boys had prepared a steaming supper for him, and the first thing he did was to drop into a chair and attack the food voraciously. A plentiful supply was provided for Rolf in a corner by the fire.

The boys had no news to report. Toke had safely reached the cabin in the forenoon, and Curt was none the worse for his perilous experience in the marsh.

But both boys were greatly worried about Val, and eagerly besought the trapper to make an immediate attempt to find and rescue him.

"We'll talk over things in the morning," replied Torpetus, firmly. "Our minds will be clearer then, and we're all bad off for a good night's rest, anyhow. So have patience, lads, and turn in now. Val shall be rescued you may be sure of that."

The boys did not press the matter, remembering the trapper's long and weary tramp that day, but obediently went to bed.

Torpetus was asleep instantly, but it was a long time before Curt and Toke could close their eyes.

They tossed restlessly from side to side, watching the firelight playing in the shadowy corners of the cabin, and thinking sadly of the empty bunk so close to them.

And when finally sleep did come, it was a troubled, broken slumber, full of strange and terrifying visions, in which poor Val suffered all sorts of incredible adventures.

CHAPTER XV

While Curt and Toke are snugly tucked away in the warm berths, let us go back twenty-four hours and see what befell Val after his mysterious ride in the boat came to an end.

Still blindfolded, he was pushed forward by Riderhood, first over soft, yielding sand, and then over what seemed to be hard, rocky soil.

The journey was a brief one. A rattling, creaking noise signified the opening of a door. It closed behind Val, and his feet sank deep into something soft and warm.

Then the handkerchief was removed from his mouth and the bandage from his eyes, and he was roughly placed on the ground in a sitting posture.

At first he could see nothing, but as his eyesight gradually came back, he blinkingly noted his surroundings. He was in a small, square shed, rudely constructed of damp, half-rotten boards. The floor was covered to the depth of half a foot with dry grass and pine boughs.

The shed was apparently built against a cliff, for its rear wall, was of solid rock, streaked with wet, shining lines where water had trickled down from above.

Val had but brief time to note these details, for Riderhond was standing over him with a lighted lantern in his hand. The convict was in an ugly mood.

He drew a stout rope from his pocket, and, stooping down, he bound it tightly around the prisoner's ankles.

Then he released Val's arms, which were fastened behind his back, and, drawing them in front, he tied them more securely than ever at the wrists.

"There," he muttered, "that will permit you to lie comfortably on your back. I can't do any more for you. I want to give you a word of warning now. Don't dare to open your mouth, and don't try to escape, for that is out of the question. All you've got to do is to lie here and keep quiet. As long as you obey me you won't be harmed; disobey, and you'll be sorry for it. I won't hold any conversation with you, so remember that and don't try to question me."

Riderhood scowled fiercely at his prisoner and left the shed, blowing out the light in the lantern before opening the door.

Val was glad to be alone. He was too weary to pay much attention to his surroundings at present. The interior of the shed was warm and comfortable, so he dropped over on his back and was sound asleep in a short time.

The pale gray light was shining through the crevices of the shed when Val awoke, and he knew that the night was over.

He sat up, feeling somewhat refreshed but very hungry. He could hear voices at a distance and the rattle of tinware, but the planks of the shed joined so closely that he could see nothing.

Presently Riderhood squeezed through the door of the shed, bearing a tin plate which contained fried bacon, a handful of stale crackers and a cup of water.

He silently untied Val's arms and placed the food before him.

"Hurry yourself!" he said, sharply "You won't get much time."

Then he went away, opening and closing the door with the same caution.

Val was too hungry to be particular about the food. He devoured it with a relish, and had hardly finished when Riderhood returned. His manner was so forbidding as he rebound his captive's arms that Val was afraid to question him and wisely remained silent.

Riderhood left the shed without a word, and during the weary hours that followed Val had plenty of time to think over his unpleasant situation.

To begin with, he did not know where he was, though he had no doubt that the outlaws had chosen a safe hiding-place for themselves. The worst that he now feared was a long and irksome period of confinement.

He was in possession of a secret that was fatal to Riderhood's safety, and he knew that the convict would keep him a prisoner as long as he possibly could.

Val did not believe that his life was in danger, for, though Riderhood was an evil man, he would hardly dare to commit murder,

There were two points in Val's favor. One was the chance of being rescued by the trapper and his companions; the other, which was a more remote one, need not be explained at the present time.

Suffice it to say that Squire Petit, down at Mehoopany, possessed as thorough a knowledge of Riderhood's secret as did Val himself.

Had Riderhood known this, he might have spared himself the trouble of kidnapping Val with such elaborate precautious; but it was just as well for Val's interests that Riderhood was ignorant of the matter. Otherwise the convict might have foully disposed of his prisoner through sheer anger and revenge, and then taken steps to render himself secure from arrest.

These two chances of escape weighed little with Val at the present moment. The fact that his arms were now tied in front of him had given him a good deal to think about, and he was resolved to try to liberate himself that very night.

"I can pick the cords loose with my teeth," he reflected, "and then it will be an easy matter to free my ankles. The shed door is not fastened, as far as I can tell, and if I once get outside I'll make a break for the woods and defy them to capture me."

It was Val's intention of course to wait until the robbers were all asleep before making the attempt. He supposed that their camp was located somewhere along the Allogash or on the shore of Long Pond.

The possibility that one of the men would be on guard all night gave him a momentary uneasiness.

"It's not at all likely," he thought; "but if one of the fellows should be doing sentry duty, I'll find a way to slip past him in the darkness. For that matter, I'd sooner run the risk of being shot than remain here at Gabriel Riderhood's mercy."

Val's impatience grew as the day lengthened, and he longed ardently for night to come. What was transpiring outside the shed he could not tell.

Occasionally he heard indistinct voices, but that was all. He concluded that the weather was dark and threatening, for the light that penetrated the shed was of the feeblest. Even this began to wane at last, much to Val's satisfaction, leaving in its place a chill gloom.

Half an hour after the daylight had faded, Riderhood came in with a lantern and Val's supper.

As before he untied the prisoner's hands, and then left him alone, bidding him get through as quickly as possible.

The meal was a scanty one, consisting of weak coffee and stale crackers, but Val relished it, nevertheless, and was finishing the last scrap when Riderhood returned.

He was afraid that his arms would be bound behind his back again, thus frustrating the plan he had in view but his apprehensions were groundless. Riderhood quickly secured his captive's wrists in front, and left the shed without a word.

It was not at all likely that he would return that night, but Val resolved to take no chances. So he stretched himself on his back, intending to lie there and feign sleep until it was time to act. But he carried the deception too far, and after struggling to fight off drowsiness, he fell asleep in reality. This proved to be for the best, for when he woke up with a start and a vivid remembrance of what he had to do, he felt refreshed and strengthened.

He was satisfied that the night was far advanced. He sat still for a few moments, but could not hear a sound.

The darkness and silence indicated that the outlaws were sleeping soundly, probably in another shed close at hand.

Val could hear the quick throbbing of his heart as he lifted his bound wrists to his mouth and began to bite the knotted cords. It was a trying task, and more than once he was on the point of giving up in despair.

But the memory of what was at stake helped him to persevere, and at last he drew one of the ends loose with his teeth. Five minutes more labor sufficed, and he could have shouted for joy when he found that his hands were free.

The cords that bound his ankles caused him almost equal difficulty, but in ten minutes his deft fingers untangled the knots, and he rose to his feet, trembling with excitement. He fully believed that the worst of his difficulties were over, and his heart bounded with hope.

He did not venture to try the door at first. He walked cautiously about the shed for a little while, so that the blood would flow freely in his stiffened limbs.

Then he searched for a crack large enough to see through, and, failing in this, he noiselessly approached the door. He placed his hand to it and pushed, but it would not move. A harder pressure yielded the same result.

The shock was a severe one, for Val had confidently expected to find the door open. He stood still for a moment, greatly perplexed and troubled. Then a sudden idea occurred to him, and he examined the planks on each side of the doorway.

They were not fastened any too securely, for the shed was rudely put together, and, choosing the most likely of the two, Val bore all his weight against it.

It gave way, slowly, from the start, and at last the lower end parted, leaving the upper end clinging by a nail or two.

Val was greatly elated by the success of this operation; for it was attended by little or no noise.

The space thus opened was not wide enough for him to squeeze through, but it was amply sufficient for another purpose.

He waited a short time to satisfy himself that all was well, and when the silence remained unbroken, he ventured to push the lower end of the board outward until he could get his arm through.

His hand soon encountered the handle of the door, which was simply a strip of leather tacked at each end.

He was in a quandary now to know what held the door fast; but by moving his arm about he soon discovered the cause. A heavy bar of wood was the detaining agent. One end was imbedded in a depression on the face of the door, and the other end was lodged firmly against the ground.

Val took a firm hold of the obstruction near the top, and pulled with all his might. The bar came loose in his hand, and he drew it quietly in through the aperture. It was well suited for a weapon of defense, so he held on to it.

Another interval of silence revealed no cause for alarm, so Val pulled the loose plank into its place, and cautiously tried the door.

It opened at his slightest touch, and he quickly stepped outside, holding the heavy bar in his hand.

It was dark outside, but as the interior of the shed had been considerably darker, the transition was favorable to Val's eye. He could see with a certain distinctness through the gloom, and the first brief glimpse of his surroundings filled his heart with amazement and despair.

CHAPTER XVI

Little wonder that Val was startled and amazed. He had confidently hoped to find the shore of Long Pond before him or the narrow channel of the Allogash, with the limitless forest stretching beyond it.

Instead he found himself in a stranger place than he had ever seen in his life. He was completely hemmed in by a wall of rock that was almost circular in shape.

The space thus inclosed was sixty or seventy feet in diameter, and the massive cliff that towered above it from every side was jagged and irregular, split in numerous places, and, as far as Val could perceive in the gloom, was composed of many separate boulders.

These varied in height, ranging from forty to fifty feet above the ground. At the top they curved slightly inward, so that the interior of this queer spot resembled the hollow of a mammoth bell.

Looking upward, Val could see a circular patch of sky studded with a few twinkling stars. It was a very small patch, indeed, for numerous large pine trees grew thickly about the edge of the opening, and the overhanging boughs made its dimensions smaller than they would have been otherwise.

The shed from which Val had just escaped stood on one side of this natural prison, and across from it, on the opposite side of the circle was another long, narrow shed. Its long end was built into a deep cavity which nature had scooped from the rocky wall at this point, and the cliff overhung the roof at such an angle that the shed was beyond the reach of rain or snow.

Of course Val noted all these things in much less time than it takes to tell. A brief glance revealed his situation, and he began to wish he had remained where he was. It was manifestly impossible to scale the walls of his prison.

He knew that a passage must lead to the outer air through the cavern into which the long shed was built, but he felt by no means equal to the perilous task of picking his way among the sleeping outlaws. The consequences of failure were too terrible to contemplate.

All at once he made a new discovery. The occupants of the shed were not asleep, for a dim, yellow light shone through the crevices of the boards.

Val crept a yard or two closer and stood still. He could hear the low sound of voices and the crackling noise of burning wood.

A sudden panic seized him, and he retreated behind the small shed. He stood there for a moment or two, trembling in every limb.

But he had gone too far how to retreat. It was impossible to conceal the fact that he had cut his bonds and broken out of the shed, and if Riderhood discovered this his anger might prompt him to do something desperate.

"I've got to escape somehow," thought Val. "Whatever the odds are, I'd sooner face them than stay here."

In the vain hope of finding some means of climbing up the cliff, Val first made a careful circuit of the wall, tracing it to each end of the long shed.

The search was useless of course. The most agile climber in the world could not have surmounted those concave rocks.

Val's heart beat wildly as he now proceeded to scrutinize the shed itself. The long side, which lay parallel with the cliff, was closely built, and he could see nothing through the cracks.

The one end was equally impenetrable, but when he made his way cautiously to the other end, he found the desired opportunity within reach.

This extremity of the shed was triangular in shape and fitted close into the angle of the cavern. The door was here, and in one of the unplaned boards that composed it Val found a knot-hole more than an inch in diameter.

He dropped quietly on one knee and placed an eye to the orifice. This gave him an admirable view of the interior. Away back at the other end of the shed a large fire was burning in a sort of an oven made of loose stones, and on top sat an object that Val took to be a frying-pan.

"He dropped quietly on one knee and placed an eye to the orifice."

Four men were gathered about the fire. Riderhood was one, and Val recognized another as the red-bearded man who had been with the convict at Mehoopany that night, and answered to the name of Swart. The remaining two were strangers. One was smooth-faced, and the other had a heavy blonde moustache, with twisted ends, and a very ferocious cast of features. In fact, his companions appeared quite mild and respectable by contrast.

Val looked briefly at this quartette of worthies, and then surveyed the rest of the shed. All sorts of odds and ends were lying about, and near the fire were heaps of dry grass and pine boughs, spread over with blankets.

The extent of the cavern was greater than Val had supposed. The ruddy light shone far back into the deepest recesses, and then glimmered on a large red blanket suspended between roof and floor, and cut off any further view in that direction.

Val instantly divined the meaning of this. The blanket concealed the exit from the cavern, and was placed, there to prevent the light of the fire from being visible outside.

"I have only one chance," thought Val, "and I must try it, desperate as it is. When a suitable time comes, I'll open the door suddenly and rush through the cavern. If I et safely outside, I'll defy them to catch me."

Val had not forgotten that he was brought to this place in a boat, but he still supposed that it was on the shore of Long Pond or the Allogash, and that the forest was within easy reach.

As two of the men were facing the door, and as, moreover, several rifles stood within easy reach, in the corner of the Shed, Val concluded to postpone his attempt for a little while, though he knew it would be perilous to wait long.

The men were not in a talkative mood, and, what little was said, Val heard very indistinctly. He discovered, however, that the red-bearded man's full name was Swartman, and that the smooth-faced man and the one with the long, light-colored moustache were named respectively Tucker and Dykart.

The frying-pan on the fire seemed to be the centre of attraction, and Val supposed that it contained some article of food.

But now a strange thing happened. Swartman made some remark to his companions, and immediately tilted the supposed frying-pan by the aid of a cloth. Dykart drew from under the box on which he was sitting an odd-looking concern, pierced with small holes. Swartman held the pan over this, and slowly tipped the one side of it until Val could see distinctly a tiny silvery stream of molten metal trickling into the perforated receptacle below.

As Val watched this operation in astonishment, Riderhood changed his position, thus revealing a long, smooth plank, covered with round shining objects.

Here was the clue to the mystery, and the truth flashed on Val's mind with stunning force as he kept his eye glued to the knot.

He had long wondered who these lawless companions of Riderhood were, and what their purpose was in coming to this lonely region. Now it was all plain as daylight. They were counterfeiters, and beyond doubt the gang had been plying their nefarious trade here for some years.

"This accounts for it," muttered Val, under his breath. "Riderhood has joined these rogues so he can have a camping-place while he searches for the lost box. It must have been through this Swartman that he got in with them. He evidently knew the fellow before his arrest, for the conversation they had under the bridge that night shows that he has made a confidant of him, and that they intend to share the contents of the box—when they find it. I don't suppose the other two men know anything about Riderhood. Swartman is very careful not to call him by his right name, anyhow."

At this point it suddenly occurred to Val, with very unpleasant vividness, that the necessity for escape was now more urgent than ever.

If the counterfeiters should discover that he knew their secret, it would be as much to their interest as to Riderhood's to put him out of the way. The entire four would be banded against him, and from what little Val had seen of the unmitigated ruffian named Dykart, he knew his life would be in danger if that individual had any say in the matter.

He knew, too, that he must act quickly for some one might come out of the shed at any moment and discover him.

He had briefly removed his eye from the knot-hole in order to rest himself a little. When he peeped in again, the men were gathered close to the fire, and the frying-pan was back in its old place.

Val knew he would never have a better chance, and nerved himself for the coming ordeal.

He breathed a silent prayer for help in his dangerous undertaking, and then, with a careful touch, he pulled the door open a slight crack.

The men heard nothing, and were not even looking that way.

A single step brought Val inside the shed. He moved quickly toward the hanging blanket, and had almost reached it when his foot struck a little heap of tinware, and down it came with a ringing clatter.

CHAPTER XVII

For one brief second Val was so terrified that he stood quite still. Then a hoarse shout roused him to his peril, and he dashed furiously at the blanket. It gave way and fell about his feet, almost tripping him. He regained his balance, and plunged on in the darkness, for not the faintest ray of light was visible

Shout after about was ringing behind him now; but he retained his presence of mind as he stumbled on down the rocky path, hoping every second to emerge in the open air.

Then his feet struck yielding sand, and he had barely time to observe a little streak of pale light ahead of him, when he plunged knee deep into icy water.

He gasped with the shock and staggered back a pace or two. Before he could collect his senses, a strong hand clutched his coat-collar, and he was jerked forcibly off his feet.

In this helpless condition, he was dragged back into the shed, and when he was permitted to regain his feet, bruised and half-suffocated, he discovered, with a thrill of fear, that his captor was Dykart.

The man moved on to the fire, where his companions were standing.

"There!" he cried, hurling Val at the very feet of Riderhood. "See what your folly has brought on us. This precious young scamp knows everything. If he ever gets away, he'll blow us higher than a kite."

Riderhood sullenly stammered out some excuse, and gave Val a severe kick by way of an outlet for his discomfiture.

"He won't have another chance to escape," he muttered. "You may be sure of that."

Dykart laughed harshly.

"No," he agreed fiercely. "You're right on that. I'll attend to the matter mvself. As long as he stays here, there's danger of his getting away. I'll, take care good to put him where he can't do us any harm. Don't anyone interfere with me, for when I say I'll do a thing, I'll do it."

No one replied, though Tucker and Swartman looked as though Dykart's fearful proposition was not at all to their taste.

On Riderhood's face lurked a smile or complacent satisfaction, as though he had suddenly discovered a way out of his difficulties. Though too much of a coward himself to commit any great crime, he was well satisfied to let Dykart make what disposition of Valentine Stanlock he chose.

The latter had heard and understood all that was said, and now he begged piteously for mercy, appealing to each one in turn, and promising, if he was liberated, to reveal nothing.

But his pleadings fell on deaf ears. Riderhood sprang forward to seize him, and was pushed roughly aside by Dykart.

"No, you don't," said the ruffian. "He's in my charge now."

He picked Val up in his muscular arms and bore him back to the little shed.

Val struggled and plead vainly for his liberty, but a handkerchief was stuffed into his mouth, and his legs and arms were tightly bound—the latter behind his back. Then Dykart threw him down in a corner of the shed and went away.

It was not far from morning when Val's attempted escape came to this disastrous ending; and while he lay in a cramped position in the corner of the shed, watching the cold, gray light filter through the crevices, away off in the little cabin on White Deer Pond, Torpetus Macbean and his companions were taking an early breakfast, by the cheerful glow and warmth of a blazing fire.

In spite of these pleasant conditions, the meal was a hurried and gloomy one. Curt and Toke had little to say, and the trapper was buried in such deep reflection that, on two different occasions, he thrust his knife into his coffee cup and tried to cut his bacon with a spoon.

Finally he shoved his chair back from the table and briefly announced the result of his cogitations.

"I'm going down to Mehoopany this morning, boys, and when I return I'll bring Peter Bowles along, and also a new stock of provisions. Don't worry about Val. He ain't in any danger; I'm certain of that. And the slower we act in this matter the better. I won't speak about it to any one but Bowles, or we'd have half the population of the village up here instanter, and those rascals might clear out and take Val with them. That wouldn't suit me at all, for I don't intend that they shall go unpunished. Bowles is a mighty shrewd fellow, and if we follow his judgment we can't go far wrong. If he thinks we ought to have more help, I'll get old Isaac Kessler, who lives ten miles back here, in the direction of Mehoopany."

"When will you return?" asked Curt.

"Well, I can't just say, exactly. I feel pretty fresh, after a good night's rest, and no doubt I'll reach Mehoopany by the middle of the afternoon. It won't take long to get Bowles and the provisions, and we'll probably start back with his team some time tomorrow morning, as early as possible. You can count on seeing us by dinner-time, anyhow. Stick close to the cabin while I'm gone; not that I apprehend any danger, though, for them rascals stole all they could lay their hands on and won't likely make another visit. Keep everything barred up well at night. I'd leave Rolf here, if I could; but the old dog would tear the cabin down to get after me. You couldn't do anything with him."

The boys promised to heed the trapper's instructions. They helped him in his brief preparations for the start and watched him from the cabin door, until he was out of sight.

It was evident, from the brisk strides with which he began his long tramp, that Torpetus was more deeply worried than he chose to let appear, and that he intended to lose no more time than was necessary.

To tell the truth, he felt in a measure responsible for Val's misfortune, and accused himself of carelessness and imprudence. He really had no cause for self-blame. How could he have foreseen the startling events that had recently occurred?

Ordinarily, the vicinity of White Deer Pond was as safe—with the exception of wild animals—as the village of Menoopany itself.

But the trapper was a little sensitive in this respect, and was anxious to rescue Val before it became known in the village that anything had happened to him.

The never-failing judgment of Peter Bowles was the trapper's main hope in his undertaking, and so he made all possible speed in his journey to Mehoopany.

The boys who were left behind at the cabin found their forced inaction very hard to endure. Attending to the traps was out of the question, while this suspense was hanging over them, nor could they fix their minds on their books, for worrying over Val's fate.

The day wore monotonously by, varied only by the preparation of the meals. The robbers had fortunately left enough food to last with care for nearly a week, so the boys were not compelled to go on short rations.

When night came they secured the door and windows and went to bed. They slept fairly well, though about midnight they were roused by the mournful cries of their old enemy, the panther.

The beast prowled about the cabin for a long time, but took good care to keep out of harm's way when Curt took his rifle and opened the window-shutter a few inches.

The cries ceased after a while, and the next thing the boys knew it was broad dayslight. The weather was still cold and clear, and, when they had breakfasted and put the things away, they began to watch for the trapper.

By noon he had not arrived. Hour after hour went by. Late afternoon came, and then twilight, but still no Torpetus.

The boys were terribly worried. They prepared supper and made a roaring fire of logs. Until late in the night they watched and waited, and then they lay down in their bunks without undressing, and fell asleep from sheer weariness.

If the panther prowled about that night, his wailings fell on deaf ears.

The third day of the trapper's absence dawned in deepened doubt and anxiety. The boys were out of bed at the first streak of light. They ran to the cabin door and looked eagerly out.

The white, frozen pond was before them, and beyond it the gray hills, merging into the grayer clouds that hid the sky. There was a suggestion of snow in the biting air, but as far as the eye could discern, or the ear hear, there was nothing to indicate that Torpetus was near at hand.

"No use looking for him now," said Curt, gloomily, as he closed the door. "He would hardly travel by night. The road is bad enough for a team in daytime. I'll tell you what it is, Toke," he added, determinedly. "If Torpetus and Peter Bowles don't arrive by dinner-time, we'll go and look for them."

"Go to Mehoopany, do you mean?" asked Toke.

"No," replied Curt. "We'll go toward Long Pond. The only way in which I can account for the trapper's long absence is this: I believe he and Peter Bowles have gone to look for the robbers by themselves, instead of first coming to the cabin. They didn't want to take us along for fear we'd get hurt. I may be wrong regarding this, but it won't do any harm to go over in that direction and look around. We might learn something about Val. And who knows but what the robbers have treated Torpetus and Peter Bowles in the same way?"

Curt's rather improbable theory struck Toke in a favorable light. Anything was preferable to another tedious day of suspense and waiting; so, after a little discussion, the boys decided to carry out this plan,

Under the circumstances they were justified, for the trapper had positively promised to return by noon of the second day. His continued absence must mean that something was wrong.

CHAPTER XVIII

At half-past eleven o'clock the situation was unchanged, and promptly at the hour of noon Curt and Toke left the cabin. They were warmly dressed, and had their guns with them.

They left a brief note behind for the trapper, in case he should arrive during their absence. Their object was merely to reconnoitre the vicinity of Long Pond. They were in good condition for tramping, and expected to return that evening.

The sky was still heavily overcast with clouds, but it was so bitterly cold that the boys did not expect the threatened snowstorm within the next twenty four hours.

Each knew the way to Long Pond equally well, but Curt knew considerably more about the pond itself than did Toke. He had been there on two occasions before, while Toke's knowledge of it was limited to one brief glimpse, and that in the early dawn when everything was misty.

The boys walked rapidly over the hard ground, and it was not yet three o'clock when they reached the Allogash, not far from where the dog had been shot.

They forded the stream, and Toke led his companion first to the log, and then along the route taken by the robbers to the spot where the trail had lost itself in the water.

Curt looked with curiosity at the surroundings which had swallowed up all trace of Val, and then both boys cautiously followed the bank of the Allogash until they came out on the shore of Long Pond. They mounted a high rock and scanned the scene before them with interest.

To explain fully the view that the boys now gazed upon, a brief digression will be necessary.

Long Pond stretched north and south, and, as its name implied, it was a mile long by one-half to three-quarters of a mile wide.

The Allogash entered from the extreme northwestern corner. Its mouth was broad and shallow and very swift, and in the course of centuries the stream had carried down so much sand and gravel and other debris that a bar extended some distance out in the pond. This bar was always a few inches under water, though large stones rose above the surface here and there.

Long Pond possessed several peculiar features. Its south end tapered to a point, and here issued its chief outlet—a comparatively sluggish stream, even larger than the Allogash.

It was known as Kitchen Creek, and its course was southeast to the Susquehanna.

From the mouth of the Allogash to the source of Kitchen Creek a strong and separate current seemed to flow through the whole length of the pond. It followed the west shore pretty closely, and in winter, when the greater portion of the pond was frozen firmly, this channel was always open.

None knew exactly the cause of this. Some maintained that it was simply the channel of the Allogash pushing on separately through the pond; others attributed it to springs, and this was the more likely theory, for the top of this channel was always more or less agitated, and the main supply of the pond was drawn from numerous springs along the shore.

The second peculiar feature was a dome-shaped cluster of weather-worn rocks, with a clump of tall pine trees on its apex.

This bore the name of Crag Island. It lay, about a quarter of a mile from the lower end-of the pond, and this open channel swept around it on both sides, so that it was equally inaccessible in winter and summer.

It must be remembered that Long Pond was one of those neighborhoods which, for some ill-defined reason, are shunned by everybody. It was remote from civilization; its aspect was perpetually gloomy; the forests were dark and full of dead trees and rocks piled in all sorts of fantastic shapes; the timber came close to the water's edge.

Consequently, those who visited the spot were few, and the occasional fisherman who, once in a decade or so, went to the trouble of transporting a boat to this remote place, paddled about Crag Island without having enough curiosity to inspect it closely.

There was no landing, for the rocky sides fell abruptly into the water. From all directions it resembled simply a great number of boulders tumbled together into the rude semblance of a dome.

It looked grandly majestic to Curt and Toke that afternoon as they surveyed it from a distance of three-quarters of a mile. The tall pine trees on its top seemed to meet the lowering gray clouds.

Right at the feet of the boys was the swift, noisy outpour of the Allogash, and their eyes could trace plainly the channel of black, open water as it flowed south between sheets of firm ice, and after circling about Crag Island went on in a faint line until it vanished in the timber rift that marked the end of the pond and the beginning of Kitchen Creek.

Toke was lost in wonder. He had often heard of Crag Island and the mysterious winter channel, and now his eyes were looking at them for the first time.

But the boys had no time to consider natural phenomena. They scanned every quarter of the landscape in the vain hope of discovering some sign that would indicate the presence of human life. It was a desolate vista of trees, rocks, ice and clouds.

Suddenly they made the unwelcome discovery that snow was beginning to fall lightly.

"This knocks our plan all to pieces," exclaimed Curt. "We must get back to the cabin as soon as possible; for, if a heavy storm comes on, we stand a good chance of getting lost."

"That's so," answered Toke. "The sooner we start, the better. I'm afraid we've come on a regular wild-goose chase this afternoon. There doesn't seem to be any sign of life in the neighborhood. It's ten to one we find Torpetus and Peter Bowles at the cabin when we get back."

Curt received this remark in silence, which seemed to imply that he was of the same opinion.

But the boys' long tramp was not destined to be entirely fruitless. As they climbed down from the rock and started toward the bank of the stream, a faint splashing noise came to their ears from some point up the channel.

"Do you hear that?" cried Curt. "Some one is coming. Hurry back, quick, before we are discovered."

They turned and dodged behind the big rock.

At one corner was a clump of thick bushes, and, peering through these, they could see plainly the mouth of the Allogash.

They waited in great excitement, fearing that the loud beating of their hearts would betray them. The suspense was not of long duration. The splashing noise became more distinct, and suddenly a man came into view, wading slowly down the shallow channel.

One glimpse was enough for Curt.

"That's the same fellow who carried off Val," he whispered in Toke's ear. "Keep quiet now. We're going to discover something great, if I'm not mistaken."

The boys snuggled down closer in the bushes and riveted their eyes on the stranger.

Riderhood—for it was he—waded to the mouth of the Allogash, and then kept on over the shallow bar that stretched out into the pond. He had a tired, jaded appearance, as though he had been tramping the forest all day on some unsuccessful quest. He had a gun on his shoulder, but carried no game.

Twenty yards out from the mouth of the stream was a cluster of big rocks, which seemed to mark the termination of the bar, for the water beyond it suddenly became smooth and less turbulent.

Riderhood waded clear to these rocks, and stooping down, he disappeared for a moment between two of the largest.

As the boys breathlessly watched the spot, a small flatboat, built with square ends and sides, shot into view on the outer side of the rocks. On the rear seat sat Riderhood, deftly guiding the craft with a paddle. His long, steady strokes had a powerful effect, and before the boys could recover from their astonishment the boat was moving swiftly down the open channel.

"Good gracious!" whispered Curt. "What do you think of that? This explains the mystery of Val's disappearance. If we can keep that man in sight, we'll find out exactly where Val is. It's a good thing we came over here this afternoon."

"Yes," assented Toke. "That's a fact But we can't see anything from here. We had better follow the shore of the pond."

They crept back from the rock on hands and knees until they reached the shelter of the timber. Then they rose to their feet and ran on through the woods.

A slight bluff followed the edge of the pond, and from this high ground the boys could catch an occasional glimpse of the swiftly moving boat. They did not venture close enough to be seen.

At last Curt stopped and pulled his companion behind a big pine tree that stood on the verge of the slope.

"We might as well watch the boat from here," he said. "It can't go very far. Don't you see that the channel ends right at the head of Kitchen Creek? The creek itself is always frozen clear across just where it starts out of the pond."

Curt was right about this. From where the boys stood they could see that the channel terminated in a bed of firm ice. Whither then, was this mysterious, boatman bound? When he reached the end of the channel, he could go no farther.

The question was speedily answered in a startling and unexpected manner.

CHAPTER XIX

With the combined assistance of the paddle and the rapid current of the channel, the boat was almost half a mile from the mouth of the Allogash, when Toke and Curt stopped behind the tree to watch it. It was a quarter of a mile from them as well, for their progress through the forest had been slow, owing to the fear of discovery.

Riderhood paddled on with quick, determined strokes, that showed he had no doubt about his destination. The snow was beginning to fall more thickly, and in fine flakes, which indicated a storm of long duration. But the boys paid no heed to this as they kept their eyes persistently on the moving boat. What mattered a snow-storm in comparison with the great discovery they were on the verge of making?

Riderhood was now close to Crag Island, and on reaching the upper end he headed the boat into the west channel, so that it was still visible to the boys, though the falling snow dimmed it at times.

It floated along the side of the island, and then apparently stopped. The boys could hardly believe the evidence of their eyes. There was surely no landing-place on Crag Island.

But, nevertheless, the boat was resting motionless against the rocks, and just where it had stopped a clump of bushes or pine-shoots grew at the edge of the water.

Riderhood's figure was outlined for a moment against the greenness of these, and as the boys eagerly watched the spot the boat and its occupant vanished completely—faded away into nothingness before their very eyes.

They rubbed their eyes and looked again. It was no delusion. The space where the boat had been was vacant. The black water of the channel flowed by the edge of the bushes.

Curt excitedly clutched Toke's arm.

"Do you see that?" he cried. "The boat is gone! There isn't a trace of it!"

"Perhaps it sunk," suggested Toke.

"Sunk? Not a bit of it!" answered" Curt, scornfully. "It went through a narrow passage between the rocks and under those bushes. The interior of Crag Island is hollow. We have discovered the hiding-place of the outlaws."

The boys looked at each other in silent amazement.

"You're right," said Toke. "That must be it."

"Of course I'm right!" cried Curt. "Val is down there on Crag Island—not a doubt of it. What a piece of news this will be for the trapper! There is one thing certain, though. It's going to be an awful undertaking to rescue Val. Why, those scoundrels could hold the place against a small army. The worst of it is the place is surrounded by water, and there isn't a boat to be had this side of Mehoopany.

"Torpetus will find a way of getting at them," assured Toke. "We had better start back to the cabin at once, don't you think?"

"No," replied Curt. "We ought to make a circuit of the pond, by all means. I want to feel more sure of this thing before I go back. I'm not much afraid of the snowstorm; for, with the pond to guide us, we can easily find the mouth of the Allogash, and from that point we can steer a pretty straight course to the cabin."

Curt had his way, and the boys started briskly down the west shore of the pond. Crag Island still loomed distinctly out of the falling snow, but there was no sign of life about it—no smoke curling above the pine trees on its crest, and no red glimmer shining through the crevice between the rocks which had swallowed up Riderhood and his boat.

Before reaching the lower end of the pond, the boys noted with secret uneasiness that night was coming on rapidly. They experienced a vexatious delay in crossing the frozen head of Kitchen Creek, for the ice along the edges was very fragile.

When they finally reached the other side it was quite dark, and above them Crag Island arose dimly out of the shadows. They pushed up the east side of the pond, and, owing to the increasing darkness and fall of snow, Curt decided to abandon his original intention of approaching close to Crag Island by means of the ice.

"It won't matter much, anyhow," he said. "The channel cuts us off effectively, and if we ventured that far we might be discovered and fired at. We'll strike for the cabin, and I hope Torpetus will be there when we arrive."

"You don't think he came over here to look for the thieves, then?" asked Toke.

"No. I've abandoned that idea. Something must have detained him at Mehoopany. As likely as not, Peter Bowles was away, and in that event Torpetus would wait on him, if it took a week."

The boys walked fast now, keeping close to the edge of the pond. Fully two hours had elapsed since they lost sight of Riderhood at the island, and the night was well advanced.

The edge of the pond was open, and the snow beat so furiously in their faces that they made slow progress. The ground was already covered to the depth of several inches.

They were half-way to the upper end of the pond and were thinking seriously of taking to the timber, at the imminent risk of losing themselves, when a gunshot rang sharply in their ears and sent a shuddering echo through the hills.

The boys instantly wheeled in their tracks, and, as they glanced apprehensively into the blinding curtain of snow, a second report woke the echoes.

Both boys fancied they saw at that instant a faint red flash, and, if such was the case, it indicated that the shots were fired very close at hand.

The echo of the second report had barely died away, when a hoarse, angry shout followed it. This was twice repeated. Then succeeded an unbroken silence.

The boys looked at one another, trembling with fear.

"Those shots came from the lower end of the pond," said Curt, huskily. "I'm sure of that. What they mean, I don't know."

"Hadn't we better go and see?" suggested Toke, in a tone that belied his words.

Curt shook his head.

"What chance do we stand against such ruffians? We can't do any good, and we could easily get ourselves into serious trouble. Come to think of it, the shots were probably fired from the island as a signal to one of the robbers, who was absent, and those shouts were his answer."

This rather lame explanation seemed plausible enough to the boys. In their frightened, excitable state of mind, they could not reason out its weak points.

Under the circumstances they were thoroughly justified in not returning to make a closer investigation. Their only shelter was miles away, and to reach it they had to face the added terrors of night and a pitiless snow storm. Each moment of delay made the situation worse.

"The shots may mean something, after all," said Curt; "but I don't believe they do. I'll tell you what it is, though! If we don't find Torpetus at the cabin when we get back, we'll start for Mehoopany at the first streak of daylight. Come on, now! Walk as fast as you can. We must not lose any more time."

The boys faced the storm once more and trudged on as rapidly as possible. They circled around the upper end of the pond, and felt considerably relieved when they reached the mouth of the Allogash.

They stopped here for a moment and pictured to themselves Val's journey by night down that narrow black channel, which stood out in such bold relief from the surrounding fields of ice.

It was only too plain that their companion had been taken to Crag Island by the same precautionary course which they had seen Riderhood follow that afternoon. The mystery of the lost trail was a mystery no longer.

After some discussion, the boys now decided to follow up the Allogash to the point where the traps were set. This would bring them within two miles of the cabin, and, though it increased the journey by just that distance, it made their chances of finding the cabin tenfold better.

It was a long and wearisome tramp, in the gloom and deepening snow, but the brawling of the stream was an ever-present guide, and they came at last to the log where Curt and Val had concealed themselves when Riderhood passed by.

The final two-mile stretch across the forest was much more to be dreaded, but the boys noted carefully the direction from which the wind came, and, with this to aid them, they started resolutely ahead.

Here and there an open glade gave them an opportunity for observation; otherwise, they might have wandered aimlessly about in a circle, as men who are lost in the woods usually do. But finally, to their great joy, they emerged from the forest on the lower end of White Deer Pond.

They had their bearings now, and in a brief space of time the cabin was visible through the driving snow.

A cheerful yellow light shone through the crevices of the shutter and from under the door-sill; and when the boys rushed eagerly forward and flung the door open, they fairly bumped into Torpetus Macbean and Peter Bowles, who were just in the act of coming-out, rigged up in great-coats and caps and gloves.

"Well! well!" cried Torpetus. "Here you reckless boys are at last. We was just starting after you."

CHAPTER XX

It was some time before explanations could be given on either side; for the boys were hungry, cold and ready to drop with fatigue.

Torpetus replenished the fire and then prepared a bountiful supper from the plenteous supply of provisions he had brought from Mehoopany. Then, while Curt and Toke were eating like starved boys, he briefly explained his long absence.

It was a very simple matter, after all. He had been delayed on his tramp to the village by tripping over a log and slightly injuring his knee. When he reached Mehoopany, about dark, he found that Peter Bowles had gone thirty miles down the river on business, and that the time of his return was uncertain.

Torpetus concluded to do the best thing under the circumstances; so he started after the missing man by the first train the next morning and brought him triumphantly back to Mehoopany that afternoon, though it required all of his persuasive powers to do so, for Mr. Bowles was reluctant to leave the work he had on hand.

It was too late then to start for the cabin, so the evening was spent in getting together the stock of provisions.

They left the village the next morning with Peter Bowles' team, and reached the cabin shortly after the departure of the boys. They were accompanied by Peter's nephew, who took the team back.

"I'm sorry for the delay," said the trapper, in conclusion; "but it couldn't be helped. I made all the haste possible. No one at the village knows anything about the matter. They think I just came down for more provisions. You didn't say anything, did you, Peter? I told you not to breathe a whisper of it."

Mr. Bowles fidgeted on his seat and looked intently at the floor.

"Oh, no, no!" he muttered. "That's all right, Torpetus. Don't be uneasy."

The trapper did not observe his companion's flurried manner.

"Concerning the other affair," he continued, turning to the boys, "Peter thinks we can manage by ourselves, without getting Isaac Kessler to assist us. It won't be hard to find out where these fellows are encamped, and, if we go about the thing right, we can nab them easily."

"Once we get the drop on them," said Peter Bowles, fiercely, as he picked up his rifle and squinted along the barrel, "they'd surrender quick enough. They won't show fight, never fear."

The boys glanced at each other and smiled.

"You won't get the drop on them in a hurry," replied Curt, as he pushed his chair back from the table. "When you hear what we've got to tell you, you'll open your eyes. If you want to catch those robbers, you'll need more help than Isaac Kessler can give you."

Then he related in a minute, careful manner all that he and Toke had witnessed that afternoon; and as the narrative proceeded amid unbroken silence, the trapper and Peter Bowles opened their eyes wide, indeed, and let their chins drop, and gave other evidence of great astonishment.

"There! What do you think of that?" concluded Curt.

The trapper was speechless for a moment. He paced the room as far as the door, and then, coming back, he struck the table so hard with his horny fist that the dishes jumped in the air.

"Well, I'll own I'm knocked all in a heap!" he cried. "That's a wondrous tale of yours, Curt. I believe it, though, every word of it. Why, years and years ago, before my old father died, he used to talk about some sort of a secret cavern that the Indians told him was under Crag Island, he never went near the place, for he thought it was only a fairy tale. And, as for me, I never paddled a boat across Long Pond in my life. So that's where these rascals are hid, is it? We'll have a sweet time getting at them. They've got a regular fortress there. What do you think about it, Peter?"

Mr. Bowles was no less astounded than the trapper.

"It's a queer thing," he replied "a mighty queer thing, Torpetus. I'm sorry now I didn't hold the team a little while. It'll take a sheriff and his posse to get hold of these rascals. How many are there? Three?"

"Not less than that, anyhow," answered Torpetus. "I reckon you are right, Peter. It'll take twice that number to capture them, unless we do it by craft, and I don't see the way clear for that just yet."

The trapper was silent for a moment; then he turned to the boys and said.

"You lads had better turn in now and go to sleep. I notice you can't keep your eyes open. Peter and I will talk things over and let you know in the morning what we're going to do. You needn't be worried about Val, for as long as he's on Crag Island he's safe. They won't dare to harm him. As for those two gunshots, I don't suppose they meant anything of importance."

If the trapper was not sincere in this last statement, he certainly disguised his feelings well.

Curt and Toke were reassured, and, as they really were too weary to stay awake any longer, they willingly retired to their bunks, leaving the trapper and his companion to discuss steps for the rescue of Val and the capture of the outlaws.

We will leave them here, seated at opposite ends of the great fireplace, while we return to the counterfeiters' stronghold on Crag Island, and see how Val has fared during the past three days.

It was a period of harrowing suspense and dread to the poor fellow, for Dykart's words had left no doubt in his mind that he was to be disposed of in some foul manner.

He bitterly repented his rash attempt to escape, but it was too late to think of that now.

The first two days of this second stage of his captivity seemed to him like so many weeks in their dreary passage.

He obtained but little sleep, for his arms were kept fastened behind his back, and he suffered from continual cramp. Twice a day he was untied so that he could eat the coarse food which Dykart brought him.

Scant time was allowed him for these meals. Dykart always stood over him until he was through, and then rebound him with extreme care.

No one else came near the shed, and Val had not the least idea what was going on outside, for he could hear nothing.

During these two days he was in constant fear of being dragged away to some terrible fate, but when the dawn of the third day found him still unharmed he began to think that Dykart had abandoned his fearful designs and would be satisfied to prevent his prisoner from escaping.

In spite of this consoling reflection, Val suffered more on the third day than on the preceding two. He was exhausted by sleeplessness, and his body was full of sharp pains caused by the tightness of the cords on his wrists and ankles.

The weary, painful hours dragged slowly by, and late in the afternoon Dykart brought his captive some supper.

Val was hardly able to eat, and, when he was alone again, he rolled over and over on the dried grass, vainly trying to find a comfortable position. The prospect of another night of torture and misery seemed more than he could endure, and he felt at times as though he would go mad.

The last feeble glimmer of light had long since faded away from the crevices of the shed, and Val was lying on his back, with his wakeful eyes fixed on vacancy, when the door suddenly opened and a man entered.

Val knew it must be Dykart, though he could not see his face.

The man approached Val without a word, and cut his ankle cords with a knife. Then he pulled him to his feet, and led—or, rather, dragged—him from the shed, for Val's legs were, so stiff and cramped that he could make no use of them at first.

Dykart hurried on across the open space, and Val's feelings at that moment were terrible indeed, for he could not mistake the purpose of his cruel captor.

He observed that the rocky ground was white with snow, and that the flakes were dropping heavily through the opening overheard. Then he entered the long shed, and up at the farther end he saw Riderhood and the other two sitting about the fire.

They did not even look in his direction, and, before he could get more than a brief glimpse of them, Val was dragged back into the cavern, and thence down a sloping path to the spot where his recapture had taken place.

Here a lantern was burning, and its sickly yellow glow revealed a boat resting on a long, narrow sheet of black water. Overhead and along both sides were ragged rocks, and beyond the boat, where the strip of water seemed to terminate, a pale light shone through a narrow crevice.

Val turned his head and looked back into the cavern, hoping that some one might yet interfere in his behalf. But no one was in sight, and, as he riveted his eyes on the red gleam from the hidden fire, he was pulled into the boat and roughly compelled to sit down on the damp bottom-boards. Then Dykart seized a short pole and began to drive the boat along the narrow channel.

CHAPTER XXI

The lantern had been left behind on the rock, but its yellow rays faintly illumined the passage, and showed Val that the boat was moving swiftly toward the narrow crevice.

"Stoop low," suddenly muttered Dykart.

And as Val quickly leaned forward, he heard a rasping noise, and was struck smartly on the head and shoulders by the thick bushes through which the boat was then passing.

A cold blast of air surged on his face, and when he looked up he was amazed to see a sheet of open water before him, and beyond that a stretch of ice and the dim outline of the distant forest.

It was not until the boat had moved some yards down the channel, under Dykart's powerful paddle-strokes, that Val realized where he was. Then a sweeping glance around him made the situation tolerably clear.

He saw that his recent place of confinement was an island, and he had no doubt that the wide stretch of water and ice was Long Pond.

He had never heard of Crag Island, or of the mysterious channel that never froze; but it needed not that information to show him that such a channel did exist, and that it was bearing him rapidly toward one end of the pond.

Just in front of him sat Dykart, plying the paddle briskly. It was snowing heavily, and the white flakes were turning into slush as fast as they touched the bottom of the boat. The brief interest aroused by his strange discoveries soon faded out of Val's mind, leaving in its stead sickening horror and despair. He knew that he was destined for some terrible fate, and the events of his past life crowded so thickly into his mind that they partially distracted it from what lay before him.

In this half-dazed condition, he failed to observe what progress the boat was making, and he was only roused from his stupor by a dash of cold water that flew into his face from the tip of Dykart's paddle. Then, glancing ahead, he was surprised and terrified to see that the channel came to an abrupt end about twenty yards below.

The stretch of ice on each side came together there and no sign of open water was visible beyond it. Val could see trees looming faintly out of the driving snow, and he knew by this that the shore was not far away.

The boat moved swiftly on, until the termination of the channel was within half a dozen yards. Val did not see a large flat rock, that was just far enough under water to cause a ripple above it; but Dykart saw it. In fact, he knew all the time that it was there, and he purposely ran the front end of the boat directly upon it.

Naturally, the current swung the craft round in a half-circle, but it did not part from the rock, and when all motion ceased, Dykart sat down on the middle seat, thus holding the boat the tighter.

A double-barreled gun was leaning against the seat behind him. He calmly picked this up and examined it. Then he restored it to its place, and, leaning over, caught Val by both arms and glared into his face.

"Do you know why I brought you to this spot?" he asked, harshly. "Do you see that gulf, and do you see the black water pouring under the ice behind you? Well, I intended to shoot you and toss your body into the pond. By morning it would be far toward the river, rolling over and over under the ice of Kitchen Creek."

The ruffian paused, to give his words due effect.

Val turned and glanced behind him. He shuddered to see the black tide vanishing, with a hollow gurgle, under the broken, jagged rim of ice. The current was so impetuous that the boat tossed continually up and down, with a dizzy motion.

"Don't kill me!" implored Val, in a feeble voice, "spare my life, at least. I have done you no injury."

Dykart laughed, contemptuously, and stroked his heavy moustache.

It was evident, from his speech and manner and certain little arrangements of his dress, that this heartless villain had been a man of breeding and education in the past.

"Look here!" he said, abruptly. "I'll give you one last chance; and if you refuse it, there's no hope for you. I know something of character, and your face tells me that you would regard a solemn oath as binding. I will give you your full liberty, on two conditions. The first is, that you swear most sacredly never to reveal anything you saw or heard while in confinement back on that island. The second condition is—"

"Hold on!" interrupted Val, suddenly, as the current gave the boat a violent, one-sided lurch. "Before we make any conditions; suppose you untie my arms. I don't want to go under the ice, if the boat swings loose from the rock. Besides, it will be a proof of your sincerity." Dykart was silent for an instant. "The boat can't break away," he muttered. "Still, I don't mind proving to you that I mean what I say."

He took a knife from his pocket and quickly severed the cords that bound the prisoner's wrists.

Val drew his arms forward, and was relieved to find that he could use them.

"Well, what is the other condition?" he asked, uneasily.

"This!" replied Dykart. "That you tell me the real name of the man who captured you and brought you to the island—that you tell my everything concerning him. He goes by the name of Harkins, but I know better than that. Swartman brought him here, and made himself responsible for him. That's all right, as far as it goes. I'm not afraid that this Harkins will betray us. But there's something back of it all, and you know what it is."

Val lowered his eyes, under Dykart's searching gaze, but made no reply.

"Be quick!" cried the outlaw. "I can't sit here all night in a snow-storm. You know well enough what I mean. I overheard Swartman and this man talking about the lost box, and I know why Harkins goes away every day and tramps about the woods. The fool pretends he's looking for game. What are the contents of this box, and what is the strong hold that you have over Harkins? He was only too eager to have me put you out of the way. Be quick, now. Tell me what I want to know, and swear to keep your mouth shut, and I'll turn you loose on the firm ice. Refuse, and I'll carry out the purpose that brought me here."

Dykart waited, tapping the hoat with his heel and staring full at the young prisoner's face.

For a moment or two Val did a great deal of thinking. He was in a most perplexing quandary, and even though the loss of his life balanced one side of the scales, he could not at once make up his mind to choose the alternative. In the first place, he did not like to make the required promise, with all that it entailed—for Val's views were very strict on such matters—and, on the other hand, be hated still more to reveal what he knew about Riderhood and the lost box. In that event, his own chances of getting hold of the box might be lost forever.

There was another aspect to the matter which, fortunately for his peace of mind, Val knew nothing about. Dykart had no intention of keeping his word. The condition of sworn secrecy was inserted merely to make his proposition seem more plausible. His faith in human nature was not sufficient to allow him to give freedom to one who knew such damaging secrets. He intended to extort the desired information from the captive, and then execute the purpose that had brought him to this spot.

But Val suspected nothing of this. He placed full reliance on the man's promise, and yet he still hesitated to seize this chance of life that was open to him. His indecision lasted so long that Dykart lost patience. "Well, what are you going to do?" he demanded, furiously, accompanying the words by a violent shake. "You want to die, do you? I'll gratify you soon enough. You shall have one minute—only a minute, remember. At the expiration of that time, either you speak or I act."

The man turned, and, picking up his gun, he brushed the snow from it and carefully examined the triggers.

Then he placed the weapon down and made a sudden move toward Val, shaking his fist savagely.

Val was so terrified that the perplexing question faded entirely from his mind, and he could find no words to speak. The stiffness had all gone out of his limbs, and he retreated toward the end of the boat, placing a seat between himself and Dykart.

The latter was too angry to be prudent, he advanced threateningly on Val, thinking to terrify him into acquiescence, but the slush on the bottom of the boat caused his feet to slip, and down he came with a heavy crash.

The jar was more than the boat could stand. It quivered—beam bow to stern, slid free of the rock with a grating noise, and darted swiftly down the channel, headed straight for the gurgling black abyss under the ice, which was yawning to clutch it in a hopeless embrace.

CHAPTER XXII

At this moment of peril, Dykart's first thought seemed to be for his own safety. He scrambled to his feet with a loud cry, and seizing the paddle, exerted himself to stop the boat in its swift course to destruction.

Val was more terrified than his companion, for he knew that his own delay in making a decision was to blame for this catastrophe. He shivered with fear as he stood upright in the lower end of the boat, eying the visibly contracting stretch of black water and listening to the deeper gurgle of the abyss.

The boat crept closer and closer to the end of the channel. Great was the strength of Dykart's arms as he drove the paddle into the surging waters, but mightier still was the force of the current.

The man glared at Yal so vindictively that the youth shuddered.

"This is your doing!" he snarled. "I'll pay you up well if I get out of this scrape!"

"I didn't do it," protested Val. "Look here, though. Why don't you head to one side, instead of remaining in the centre of the channel, where the current is so swift? Be quick!" he added, sharply. "It's your last chance. We'll be drawn under the ice in another minute."

In making this suggestion, Val was actuated only by a desire to save himself and companion from being carried into the chasm under the ice. The further possibilities that it contained were far from his mind at that moment.

Dykart was quick to act on Val's advice. By dint of furious paddling he drove the boat toward the east side of the channel, and as it came nearer to the rim of ice the lessening force of the current was perceptible.

For a brief time the issue of the struggle was doubtful, for the hungry abyss was only a few feet away, and it seemed loth to let its victims out of its power. Then the boat began to move up the channel inch by inch, and Dykart and Val breathed easier. The former sat on the rear seat, with the gun resting beside him, and Val was on the next seat, in front.

"I'm going back to the rock now," said Dykart, angrily; "and I'm going to stop there just one minute. If you don't make up your mind in that time, under the ice you go."

Val's perplexity returned at these words, and while the boat moved slowly up the edge of the channel he vainly tried to decide how he should answer the ruffian's proposition.

All at once he noticed that the boat was creeping along within two or three feet of the rim of ice, which appeared to be thick and firm; and that quickly a plan flashed into his mind— a plan so daring that it quite took his breath away.

He trembled all over, and he was terribly afraid that his agitation would betray his purpose to Dykart. There was so little time to spare that Val instantly made up his mind.

"It's well worth the risk," he thought. "If I reach the ice the falling snow will hide me before Dykart can raise the gun to shoot. And, even if I agreed to his demands, how do I know that he will keep his word and set me free?"

Val did not know to a certainty that Dykart was acting a traitorous part, but the question had enough doubt about it to force him to immediate action.

He nerved himself for the ordeal, and, as a long-drawn stroke of Dykart's paddle deflected the bow of the boat slightly nearer the edge of the channel, he sprang up, gained the front seat, and, with one prodigious leap, cleared the belt of black water and landed on the firm ice.

"With one prodigious leap, cleared the belt of black water."

The concussion threw him forward on hands and knees, but he arose instantly and dashed away into the driving snow.

Never was there a more astonished man than Dykart as he saw his captive disappear before his very eyes. The rascal had probably forgotten that Val's limbs were free, or he would have taken means to render him secure while the boat was skirting the edge of the ice.

Val had chosen a good time to escape, and he was aided by several unforeseen circumstances. In the first place his leap caused the boat to swing out toward mid-channel, so that Dykart was compelled to head it into position again before doing anything else.

He was fully determined to recapture his prisoner, and with a few strokes he brought the craft alongside the rim of ice.

He quickly scrambled out, at imminent risk of falling into the water, and then with both of his strong arms he dragged the boat clear up on the ice.

Owing to the cramped condition of his limbs, Val was not far ahead when Dykart started after him, gun in hand.

The man could dimly make out Val's fleeing figure, and he was so afraid of losing him in the darkness that he lifted the gun to his shoulder and emptied both barrels in quick succession.

When the smoke cleared Dykart could see nothing of the fugitive, and he confidently believed that the shots had taken effect.

Throwing the now useless weapon over his shoulder, he pushed on rapidly to investigate.

Val had escaped injury, however, for at the very moment when Dykart fired he slipped on the snowy ice and came down flat.

The two reports rang in his ears, and he heard the leaden shower go shrieking over-head; for Dykart's weapon was a breech-loading shotgun, and the shells were filled with buckshot.

Instead of rising at once to his feet, Val crawled away at right angles on his hands and knees, moving as fast as possible. Then he rose, and with bent body darted off into the storm.

He heard two loud, angry shouts, which only caused him to run the faster, and, when he ventured to glance over his shoulder, he saw no trace of his dreaded enemy.

For some time Val ran blindly on, warming more and more to the exercise, and, when a dark shadow loomed out of the falling snow, he knew it must be the shore of the pond. A moment later his feet trod rugged ground, and under the first clump of trees he stopped to consider the situation.

Little did Val dream that his companions, Curt and Toke, were even then within half a mile of him. He believed them to be far away in the cabin, and how to reach White Deer Pond was his first thought.

It required but a short time to satisfy Val that he was hopelessly lost. Beyond the fact that he was on the shore of Long Pond, of which he had no doubt, there was no clue to guide him.

The night was dark, and the snow was falling fast. He was ignorant of his surroundings, and did not know which way to turn. The situation was one that would have tried the heart of many an experienced woodsman, and to Val the prospect was utterly barren of hope.

He had been crouching under the shelter of the bending trees for some twenty minutes, vainly trying to make up his mind what to do, when he suddenly caught a glimpse of a yellow light far across the pond. Its meaning flashed upon him instantly. Dykart had paddled the boat back to the cavern, and was now returning with companions and a light to give chase.

"I've got to strike out in some direction," Val concluded, quickly. "It won't take them long to follow my tracks across the pond to this spot. I would rather perish in the storm than fall into their hands again."

Then a sudden and unpleasant, reflection rather staggered him for a moment.

"Whew!" he exclaimed, aloud. "I'm in for it worse than ever now. These villains will stick to my track like bloodhounds. With a lantern, they can easily follow my footsteps through the snow. I won't dare to stop even if I find a good hiding-place. The only chance I have is to keep ahead of them until—well, I won't think about that until the time comes. As long as I can plant one foot before the other I'll push on."

The flickering light was now coming nearer, so Val plunged boldly into the forest. He knew not whether he was headed toward Mehoopany, or the cabin, or the wild region to the west of Long Pond; but he wisely did not trouble himself about these matters at present.

He had warm clothes and stout boots, and consequently he suffered little from the cold as he ran on through the dark woods. Here and there, where the trees were very thick, hardly any snow had reached the ground; but in the open glades it was more than half a foot deep, and the storm showed no signs of abatement.

Val remained hopeful and cool-headed. He knew that his pursuers must necessarily move slowly, since they had to follow the trail with a lantern. His principal fear was of doubling on his tracks and moving in a circle. To obviate this, he pursued a zig-zag course, striking abruptly from right to left.

For two or three hours he kept on, climbing hills and toiling through long, deep ravines and stretches of heavy pine woods.

CHAPTER XXIII

Gradually cold and weariness began to tell severely on Val's by no means hardy frame, and his courage was at a pretty low ebb when he crossed a small ridge and descended the opposite slope.

Guided by the tinkle of moving water, he presently reached a small rivulet, which ran through the trough of the ravine.

It was very narrow and shallow, but, to all appearances it was unfrozen, and as Val looked at the winding thread of its channel, which stood out in black relief from the snow-white shores, a happy thought entered his mind.

"I'll beat these fellows at some of their own tactics," he said, to himself. "I'm too tired to go much farther, so I'll wade up this stream for some distance, and then try to find a resting place in a hollow log or among rocks or bushes. If I can stand it out until morning, I'll be all right, for I can get my bearings then."

To make his chances still better, Val first tramped down the bank of the rivulet for quite one hundred yards. Then he entered the water and turned back in the direction he had come, wading slowly up the channel.

He was careful to avoid stepping on snow-covered rocks or on the frozen eddies. Val waded up the stream in this manner for fully a mile and a half, and just as he was thinking about leaving it and seeking a place of shelter, the channel suddenly widened and forked out in half a dozen directions.

Through the falling snow Val saw what resembled a clearing in the forest. A closer inspection showed it to be a circular expanse of marshy ground, where the rivulet no doubt had its rise.

Val cautiously skirted the edge of the marsh, and on reaching the upper end he was rejoiced to find a small, square cabin. The door swung partly open, so he entered without hesitation. He had several matches in his pocket, and striking one of these the interior of the cabin was revealed.

It was not more than eight feet square. The logs that composed it were old and decayed, and the roof looked as though it were ready to fall in. In the end opposite the door was a little window, with gaping shutter, and the floor was piled high with pine boughs, as though some one had slept there recently; but the most valuable discovery was a half loaf of bread, hard and mouldy, on a narrow shelf over the door.

Val seized this eagerly, and went out to soak it in the water of the marsh.

"If the ruffians don't trace me to this point I'm all right," he soliloquized. "I'm sure of a supper and a snug place to sleep. There must be deer-licks in the vicinity—this water-soaked bread has a salty taste—and that accounts for the cabin. Some hunter built it years ago for shooting purposes, and apparently occupied it during the past season. I wish I knew where I was. I'll find out in the morning, though, provided the sun comes out."

Having eaten the last morsel of bread, Val returned to the cabin, shook all the snow from his clothes and burrowed deep under the heaped-up pine boughs. There was no way to fasten the door, so he contented himself with pulling it shut.

After the hardships and sleeplessness of the past few days, the sensations of warmth and drowsiness that now stole over the hunted young fellow were delicious indeed.

His fear and uneasiness soon faded away, and in less than five minutes he was sleeping profoundly.

The long tramp through the forest, with the deviations to right and left, had taken far more time than Val supposed, and when he reached the cabin and went to sleep under the pine boughs, morning was not par distant.

The first streak of dawn found the snow coming down in huge flakes. This was the tail-end of the storm, and by the time it was fully light the air was clear, and the ground was covered to the depth of a foot.

The day was dreary, and a pall of sombre clouds hung low over the tree-tops. It was not so cold as before, and the dampness of the atmosphere presaged bad weather.

Not until past noon did Val wake from his long sleep, and even then all he did was to turn over, stare blinkingly at the gray light, and drop quietly off to sleep again.

When next he awoke, a sudden consciousness of his situation came to him instantly. He remembered all that had happened, and when he turned his head and peeped through the crevices of the logs into the gloomy marsh, he knew that his sleep had lasted through the night and the greater part of the subsequent day. He rightly judged that the afternoon was drawing to a close.

"I've thrown those men off my track," he reflected, with satisfaction, "and I have had a good long rest, those are two things to be thankful for, but I would be more thankful still if the sun would peep out; just long enough to give me my bearings. I don't care about spending another night here. I have nothing to eat, and, besides, I want to get back to White Deer Pond as soon as possible. Torpetus and the boys will—"

Val's self-communing came to a sudden stop, and his eyes dilated with fright. As he looked absently through the crevices of the logs, two figures had abruptly appeared at the lower end of the marsh.

Val pressed his head closer to the crack. A second glimpse told him that the worst had come. The strangers were Dykart and Riderhood. Both had guns on their shoulders, and Dykart carried a rusty lantern.

Before Val could recover from the first shock of terror and surprise, the two men were advancing toward the cabin, following the frozen edge of the marsh. Val's self-possession almost deserted him at this trying moment.

He knew that if he attempted to escape from the cabin he would be shot down instantly, while, if captured, he could expect no better fate.

An irresistible fascination kept his eyes glued to the crevice. The men came on until they were within twenty feet of the cabin. Then, greatly to Val's relief, they stopped at a little spring, which bubbled out from some rocks by the edge of the marsh. Dykart brushed the snow from a big, flat stone, and sat down.

He placed his gun by his side, and drew a small folding-cup from his pocket. He dipped this into the spring, and, after drinking three times, he handed the cup to Riderhood, who was standing beside him. Both men had a weary, sullen look.

"Well, what next?" asked Riderhood, after he had taken a drink and restored the cup to his companion.

"I don't know," answered Dykart bitterly. "I'm inclined to believe that the young rascal has perished in the storm, and I hope, for our sakes, that he has. If I had been sure of it, we might have spared ourselves this long tramp. All morning we followed that stream down without picking up his trail, and now, after tramping back again the whole afternoon, here we are at the head of it, and no signs of him yet. I'm sure of one thing. After we lost the trail at the water, it didn't snow enough to cover the marks of the fellow's boots. That's the strangest part of it all. If we could only find out where he left the water, we'd have him."

At this point the voices of the two men became inaudible. They were evidently weary, for Dykart remained on the stone, and Riderhood sat down on another one close by.

Val had heard every word of the foregoing conversation, and he knew he would be discovered if he remained where he was. No trace of his presence was visible as far as the convict and his friend had already advanced, for he had approached the cabin on the previous night by the frozen edge of the swamp. But Val knew that his footsteps showed plainly outside the door, and could not escape the attention of the men if they came closer.

There was but a single chance for Val, and that was a slim and desperate one. The men were twenty feet from one of the blank sides of the cabin. If he could slip noiselessly out of the door, and keep the cabin between himself and his enemies until he gained the shelter of the forest, he might make good his escape.

"I'll do it," Yal muttered, resolutely. "I have one advantage over them. They are worn out by a long day's tramp, while I have just had a refreshing sleep. I'm not of much account if I can't keep the lead under those circumstances."

The possibility of the men approaching the cabin at any moment caused Val to act without delay. He rose noiselessly to his feet and stretched himself. On tiptoe he approached the door and slipped outside with a beating heart.

He quickly ran around the angle. Then, keeping the cabin in line with himself and his dreaded foes, he plunged rapidly across the stretch of low bushes toward the friendly shelter of the pine timber, which was scarcely a dozen yards distant.

CHAPTER XXIV

Mr. Peter Bowles may have deserved the reputation for keenness and good judgment which Torpetus Macbean insisted upon giving him, but he had one failing which is hardly compatible with the above-mentioned virtues. He was somewhat boastful, and lacked the power of holding his tongue.

There was a reason for his fidgetty, uneasy manner when the trapper asked him, on the evening of their arrival at the cabin, if he had kept his information strictly to himself.

And, although Mr. Bowles answered affirmatively, he knew in his heart that he was not telling the truth.

The fact of the matter was this: On the afternoon of the preceding day, while Torpetus and Peter Bowles were purchasing the provisions down at Mehoopany, the latter left the store for a moment, and outside in the street he ran across Squire Petit.

This was an opportunity that Mr. Bowles could not resist. He drew the squire into a little tobacco shop near by, and briefly unburdened himself of his startling information.

The squire's face was a picture of amazement and fear when he learned that Valentine Stanlock had been abducted by supposed robbers in the lonely neighborhood of Long Pond.

"And do you two men expect to rescue him without help?" he asked, with deep meaning.

"Why, certainly," responded Peter Bowles. "Never you fear. We'll nab the rascals easily enough. Look here, squire," he added. "Don't breathe a whisper about this. We don't want to alarm the village."

The squire uttered not a word. He immediately left the shop with a white, stern face, and whether his parting nod implied a promise of secrecy Mr. Bowles was by no means sure, though he was inclined to think that it did.

At daybreak on the following morning, Squire Petit came down to the shore of the Susquehanna attired in his best suit.

He ferried himself across in a small boat, and caught the eastern accommodation train that passed down on the opposite side.

At about me same time the trapper and Peter Bowles left the village on their way to the cabin. The latter's optimistic temperament had caused him to forget his little breach of confidence on the previous evening, and he was in the best of spirits as the village-faded away in the distance and the rugged timber tracts stretched before the steaming horses.

He might have been less jubilant had he known that Squire Petit was at this very moment in the little town of Bloomsburg, some seventy miles down the river, making a very remarkable statement to an audience of police officers in the little station-house.

Thus it came to pass that certain important events were brewing all through that day which witnessed the strange adventures of Curt and Toke at Long Pond, the arrival of Torpetus and Peter Bowles at the cabin, and the amazing escape of Val from the ruffian Dykart.

The inmates of the cabin were so thoroughly worn out that in spite of the stern work that lay before them on the morrow, they slept almost as long as did Val, far away in the little cabin by the marsh.

The trapper arose about eleven o'clock and prepared a hasty meal, calling his companions in time to partake of it. They all had a sheepish look when they sat down to the table, as though they were ashamed of their tardiness.

"You needn't worry about that," remarked Torpetus. "It's just as well we did sleep till now, for you see we're all rested and in prime condition. Peter and I settled things last night," he went on, looking at the boys, "and we're ready for prompt action. The storm is over now, and the snow ain't deep enough to give us much trouble. In the first place, Peter and I will start right away for Isaac Kessler's cabin, for we intend to get him to help us. Then for you two boys I've got a special piece of work. I want you to take them snowshoes—there's only two pair of any account—and strike for Long Pond. Don't go much below the mouth of the Allogash, but keep your eyes open for any information that may be of value. I haven't any special object in sending you there except to make sure that we don't miss anything important. Peter and I would go ourselves, but the snow is too light for us even with snowshoes on. You boys don't weigh much, and you can make good time. Be mighty careful with yourselves, though, and as soon as you've surveyed the pond, strike for Isaac Kessler's, and join us there. You can't miss the place, for you've both been there. It lies seven miles northeast of Long Pond. Here—I'll make the whole thing plain for you."

The trapper took a bit of chalk from his pocket and drew on the surface of the table a rude triangle.

"You see White Deer Pond's at the long end of the triangle," he said, "and it's the same distance to Kessler's cabin that it is to Long Pond—about ten miles. Kessler lives out toward Mehoopany, but some ways off the road that we came by. The little end of the triangle, from Kessler's to Long Pond, is only seven miles long. You boys have much farther to go, but the snowshoes will make it easy for you. I reckon, you'd better start at once. We ought to reach Kessler's then about the same time."

Curt and Toke were eager to carry out the trapper's plan, and they assured him they could find the way without difficulty.

"You intend to make Kessler's the base of operations, do you?" asked Curt.

"Exactly," replied Torpetus. It ain't far from Long Pond, and if I'm not mistaken, Isaac has a boat, in case we need it."

In a brief space of time the dishes were washed and the cabin put in order. Then the door and windows were secured and the little party of four started away, well armed and clothed.

At the lower end of White Deer Pond they separated, Peter and the trapper trudging off through the snow in the direction of Kessler's, with Rolf limping at their heels, while Curt and Toke headed for Long Pond, moving lightly and quickly on their snow-shoes.

Both parties were destined to have some thrilling times before they joined each other at Isaac Kessler's cabin.

The trapper and his companion found traveling far more difficult than they had anticipated, for the snow had drifted in many places. Rolf proved somewhat of a hindrance, too, for he continually lagged behind, and Torpetus had to carry him over all the deep drifts.

By three o'clock scarcely half the distance had been covered. As the men trudged on, side by side, intent upon reaching their destination before dark, they were suddenly hailed by a third party, who stepped into the path ahead of them and waited for them to come up.

"Why, it's Isaac Kessler himself," exclaimed the trapper, joyously.

And in a moment he and Peter Bowles were shaking hands with the man they were on their way to see.

Kessler was gaunt and muscular, with a short, gray beard and a friendly countenance. He briefly explained that he had been looking at some fox traps and was now on his way home.

"You're coming along with me, of course," he added. "My wife has gone down to the village for a week or two, but you'll find things all snug at the house. There's plenty to eat, and drink and smoke. I reckon I can't say more'n than that.

Peter and Torpetus responded heartily to this invitation, and as they moved along the road together, the latter acquainted Kessler with the object of his visit and related all the strange events that had happened recently."

Kessler could scarcely credit the trapper's story at first.

"In all the years I've lived here, I never heard anything like it," he said. "Why, it sounds like old times, Torpetus, when the Indians was hereabouts. I've known for a month past that there was strangers in the vicinity; but I supposed they was hunting deer out o' season, and them kind of chaps I never meddle with. As for what help I can give you, Torpetus, you're sure of that. Just as soon as we get home we'll discuss the matter over a mug of cider. I put up a prime lot this year."

Even with this inducement to quicken their steps, it was quite dark when the little party reached the clearing in the forest, where stood Kessler's cabin, outbuildings and orchard. It was quite an oasis in this lonely region. Here Kessler lived all the year round, hunting in winter and carting wood down to Mehoopany in the summer time, for he owned an extensive tract of forest near by. He was a man of pretty much the same ilk as Torpetus himself.

To-night a cheerful glow shone through the shattered windows of the cabin, and the weary men looked at it with amazement, as they drew near.

"There's something wrong," muttered Kessler. "I left no light burning when I went away."

"The boys must have got in ahead of us," suggested the trapper, "and are making themselves at home."

As he spoke the rattle of tinware and the sound of voices came distinctly from the cabin. Rolf growled angrily, and the trapper had difficulty to silence him.

"Them ain't boys, by a long chalk," said Kessler, sternly. "Stay right here. I'll be back in a minute."

He left his companions at the gate of the little picket-fence which surrounded the cabin and disappeared in the gloom.

They did not have to wait long, for in two minutes he was back, carrying his rifle loosely in his arms.

"Prepare yourself for hot work," he whispered. "We have got the rascals caged. There are five big fellows making themselves at home in there. I'm just aching to get my hands on them."

CHAPTER XXV

Kessler's announcement somewhat staggered-the trapper and Peter Bowles.

"Five of them, did you say?" queried Torpetus. "That's just two more than I counted on. I thought there was three altogether in this band. They must be mighty bold rascals, to take possession of your cabin in such a free-and-easy manner. Over at my place they packed up all the provisions they could carry, and made themselves scarce without any delay."

"They're actin' just as though they was in their own home," said Kessler, in aggrieved tones. "They're all sittin' 'round the table, eatin' bread and meat and drinkin' cider, and their guns are at their elbows. They'll learn something afore they're much older. We've got the villains caged, and it won't take long to bring 'em to time."

"It seems to be as they've got the upper hand, Isaac," replied the trapper, reflectively. "The cabin is a pretty good place to defend, and then they're stronger than we are by two men."

"That's so," agreed Peter Bowles. "It's my opinion we had better let these men alone till we can get more help. When it comes to fighting, there's nothing I enjoy more; but, all the same, I believe in being prudent under certain circumstances."

"Prudence is merely another name for cowardice," muttered Kessler, with a scornful glance at Peter Bowles. "I intend to give these cheeky fellers a taste of what they deserve, and if you and Torpetus don't care about helpin', I'll tackle them single-handed,"

"You can count on me, Isaac," assured the trapper, promptly.

"And me, too, of course," replied Peter Bowles, in a feeble voice.

This point being settled, the attacking party advanced cautiously into the inclosure.

Kessler led them to the rear of the cabin, and, halting them here, he briefly explained the bit of strategy by which he hoped to capture his uninvited guests.

"You see that rear door there," he said. "Well, that leads into a little back kitchen, and from there a door opens into a front room. We'll creep into the kitchen without making any noise, and then, all of a sudden, we'll throw the other door open, and draw beads on the rascals afore they can lay a finger on their weapons. They'll surrender quick enough, especially when we tell them the cabin is surrounded."

"That's a good plan," said Torpetus, approvingly, "and the sooner we act the better. I'd like to see the whole thing over before the boys arrive, for I don't want them to get hurt. They ought to be here now. I can't imagine what's keeping them, unless they've lost their way in the dark."

"They'll turn up all right," was Kessler's assuring answer. "Come on, if you're ready; and be careful not to make any noise."

He led the way up the steps to the little porch, with his companions at his heels.

Rolf was perfectly quiet now. He seemed to understand that silence was required of him.

Kessler noiselessly opened the back door, and all entered the kitchen on tiptoe. From the front room came laughter and conversation, and the rattle of tinware and glasses.

"They'll soon be singin' another tune," whispered Kessler, grimly. "Careful, now! Be ready as soon as I give the word."

The crossing of the room was accomplished without stumbling over any furniture, and then Kessler, suddenly flung the door wide open, and sighted his rifle on the group around the table.

"Hands up!" he cried. "It's no use to resist, for we've got the cabin surrounded!"

The five men at the table were so startled by this unexpected attack that their faces turned white, and the knives and forks dropped from their nerveless hands.

Some of them made a movement to reach their guns, but they quickly altered their minds at sight of the three rifles trained upon them from the doorway, and the grim, resolute men who held them. Bidding his companions keep the rascals well covired, Kessler fearlessly walked over to the table and gathered up his captives' guns.

"Now you varmints range yourselves along that wall yonder," he commanded sternly, "and hold up your hands."

The men sullenly obeyed. They were rather genteel-looking fellows, and were dressed in dark blue clothes. Their overcoats had been taken off and thrown on one end of the table. There was nothing to the least degree ruffianly in their appearance—a fact which Torpetus noticed with secret uneasiness as he covered them with his rifle.

"Now," continued Kessler, when the men had ranged themselves along the wall to his satisfaction, "I'm goin' to bind you one at a time, and, if there's any resistin' done, I'll call in help from outside. I reckon you fellars won't rob any more cabins. You'll be safely locked up betwixt stone walls afore many hours hev gone by."

As Kessler ceased speaking and proceeded to draw a coil of rope from his pocket, one of the prisoners, a tall, light-bearded man, started forward, with a look of smiling amazement on his face.

"Keep back!" cried Kessler, warningly. "Don't come any nearer."

The stranger stopped.

"I wish a word or two with you," he said, politely. "I am convinced that a mistake has been made, and Ithink everything can be explained satisfactorily."

"No mistake at all," growled Kessler. "You fellars have been committin' depredations around this vicinity for a month past. You robbed Macbean's cabin and kidnapped one of his youngsters, and now I find you tryin' the same game on here. I reckon you didn't expect me back so soon, or you wouldn't have delayed to make free with my victuals."

The stranger laughed, and his companions along the wall glanced smilingly at each other.

"I think I understand it all now," he said. "You took us for thieves, and we were under the same impression regarding you. My name is Captain Bram, and I am connected with the police service at Bloomsburg. These men are my assistants."

He threw open his coat, revealing on his breast a silver star—the badge of his profession.

Kessler'a jaw dropped, and he stared at Captain Bram and then at his companions in the doorway, who had lowered their weapons by this time.

"Our intrusion can be easily accounted for," resumed the officer. "We left Mehoopany this morning in a two-horse sleigh, bound for the cabin of Torpetus Macbean on White Deer Pond. The lad who was to guide us was taken sick, and in some manner we lost our way. When the horses could go no farther, owing to the thickness of the forest growth, we tied them to a tree and pushed ahead on foot. We reached this place in a short time, and, though we knew it could not be Macbean's cabin, we concluded to wait here until the owner arrived. We were hungry and thirsty, so we helped ourselves to what we could find."

At this point the trapper came forward.

"I am Torpetus Macbean," he said; "but my cabin is ten miles away. What is your business with me?"

"To help you rescue Valentine Stanlock, the young fellow who was kidnapped a few days ago," replied Captain Bram, without hesitation, "and also to apprehend a convict by the name of Gabriel Riderhood, who escaped from the Eastern Penitentiary some weeks ago, and was believed to have been drowned. He is undoubtedly the kidnapper of young Stanlock."

This statement caused great surprise to the trapper and his companions, for they were all familiar with Riderhood's history.

"Who gave you the clue to this affair?" asked Torpetus, rather sharply.

"Squire Petit," replied the officer. "He was down at Bloomsburg yesterday, and remained there after we left. He will probably be over here to-morrow."

Torpetus turned away without a word and drew Peter Bowles into a corner of the cabin.

"Did you tell the squire about this matter?" he demanded.

"Why—why, yes. I told him not to say anything, though."

"Well, I wouldn't have believed it of you," said the trapper, testily. "I don't deny that it may be for the best, but hereafter I don't place any more dependence upon your judgment, Peter Bowles. Your tongue is too long for any good."

This was the only reproof the trapper uttered. He strode back to the table where Kessler was apologizing to his prisoners as he restored them their confiscated weapons.

Every one was now in a good humor, excepting possibly Peter Bowles. A fresh supply of bread, meat and cider was produced, and the late enemies gathered amicably about the table.

Torpetus sensibly accepted the situation in its true light, and speedily acquainted the officers of the law with the facts in his possession.

It was quite a long story, and during its recital the prolonged absence of the boys was forgotten.

As the trapper paused, a distant shout was heard, and all sprang simultaneously to their feet.

CHAPTER XXVI

At the very moment when Val made his bold break for liberty, Dykart and Riderhood rose and turned toward the cabin. The consequence was that both caught a fleeting glimpse of the fugitive as he slipped through the doorway, and they instantly started after him at their top speed.

An involuntary cry from Riderhood apprised Val of his peril just as he plunged into the forest.

Fear almost made his limbs useless for an instant, but he struggled manfully ahead, resolved to make the most of this last chance.

He dodged to right and left through the dense pine forest, and when he stopped to listen, after a ten minutes' run, he heard distinctly a crackling of limbs in the rear. His pursuers were sticking determinedly to the trail.

Val ran on with a fast-beating heart, and suddenly he emerged on the brink of a little pool, oblong in shape.

It was probably fed by springs, for it was black and unfrozen in the centre, while the edges were thinly fringed with ice.

On the opposite side of this pool rose a steep hill, gloomy and sombre in the deepening twilight; and as Val glanced across he saw something that thrilled his heart to the very core and brought vividly to his mind certain words spoken by Riderhood on that memorable night under the bridge.

Close to the brink of the pool was a great, flat rock, and immediately above it stood three pine trees in a row. Their heavy foliage had kept the rock free of snow.

Val stood quite still for a moment. He knew well that this was the very spot Riderhood had been seeking during the past weeks, and he had no doubt that the missing box was concealed close by.

"What a lucky discovery!" he gasped. "I must escape by all means, and come back here at the first opportunity."

The necessity of keeping the secret to himself now struck Val forcibly, and, without delays he plunged into the woods, heading at right angles to his former course.

"My trail doesn't follow the shore of the pool for more than a dozen feet," he reflected hopefully, "and in that brief distance it's not likely Riderhood will glance at the other side."

Val had scarcely advanced ten yards when he heard the sounds of pursuit close behind him.

He was in a dreary, lonesome part of the vast woods now, with great rocks and dense thickets all around him, and as he staggered on wearily, Dykart's harsh voice rang in his ears :

"Stop, or I'll fire!"

Val made a few despairing steps, and, tripping on a root, went headlong to the ground.

What followed seemed almost a dream. A wild, unearthly scream rang through the forest, and from a thicket of pine shoots sprang a long, tawny, gray beast.

The creature bounded lightly over Val's prostrate form, and the next instant its ferocious snarls were mingled with frantic cries for help.

Val struggled to his feet and looked around. A dozen yards away were Dykart and the panther, rolling over and over in the snow. The beast had pounced upon the man before he could use his gun. The latter was still imploring help, and the panther was snarling fiercely.

As Val was hesitating whether to take to his heels or try to get possession of Dykart's gun and shoot the beast, Riderhood made a tardy appearance on the scene.

Val dropped behind a tree in time to avoid discovery, and from this point of vantage he watched to see what would happen.

Riderhood approached within ten feet of the panther, which was now uppermost on his still struggling victim, and, sighting his gun, he pulled the trigger.

A dull click followed. The snow had made the weapon useless.

"Help! help!" cried Dykart, in a feeble voice.

Riderhood glanced irresolutely about him for a few seconds. Then he deliberately shouldered his gun and plunged into the forest in the direction of the pool, leaving his unfortunate comrade to his fate.

Val rose up, horrified at this heartless desertion. He pitied Dykart, monster that he was, and yet he was powerless to aid the poor wretch.

At this critical moment voices were heard at a little distance, and Val, moved by an uncontrollable impulse, shouted aloud, an answering hail came back immediately.

An instant later, to Val's joy and amazement, Curt Blake and Toke Forster broke from thicket and stood before him.

There was no time then for warm greeting. The new arrivals quickly realized the situation, and turned their attention to the panther, which had left his victim and was crouching in the snow, ready to spring at the intruders.

Curt advanced with cocked rifle, and took careful aim at the brute. He pulled trigger, and an awful scream followed the report, as the panther leaped in air and then rolled over stone dead.

Having satisfied themselves of this fact, the boys approached Dykart. The unfortunate man was unconscious, and, though he was fearfully scratched and torn by the panther's teeth and claws, his heavy clothing seemed to have protected him from vital injury.

"He's not dead," announced Curt, after a brief examination, "and, with proper care, he may recover. But who is the man, and how did you get here, Val?"

Val hurriedly outlined his adventures since he was carried off by Riderhood, and then Curt and Toke explained as briefly how they came to be in the vicinity.

"It's fortunate that we happened by at this time," said Curt, "or the panther might have made short work of you, too. It will be dark in ten minutes, so you had better push on to Kessler's cabin, which can't be more than a mile or two distant. We can't leave this man here alone, so if you two fellows will go ahead and bring somebody back with you, I'll stay here till you come. I wish there was some water handy."

"There is," replied Val, "only a few yards away."

"Well, bring me some in your cap, then, and I'll wash and bind the worst of this fellow's wounds."

Val and Toke started off at once for the pool, and when they reached the brink the discovery of Riderhood's recent footmarks caused Val to turn suddenly pale.

"Hurry back with the water, Toke," he said. "I'll join you in a moment."

He waited until his companion had broken the thin ice and started away with a capfull of water, and then, with nervous haste, he followed Riderhood's footprints.

The trail circled around the pool, passed by the rock and the three pine trees and up to a great boulder beyond them, which jutted out from the slope of the hill.

Here Val found his worst fears confirmed. The snow was considerably trampled, and when he stooped and looked under the boulder he saw unmistakable evidence to show that a square, bulky object had recently occupied the crevice.

"Too late!" he muttered, sadly. "Riderhood has discovered the place and taken the box. That accounts for his heartless abandonment of Dykart. No, it's not too late, either, he must be pursued and captured, before he can conceal the box a second time."

Val glanced at the convict's retreating footsteps, which led up the hill, and then he dashed rapidly back by the way he had come, never stopping until he reached the spot where his companions were bathing and dressing Dykart's wounds.

The man was conscious now, but he refused to speak, and though suffering much pain, not a whimper escaped him.

"Look here!" exclaimed Val. "I want you to help me—at once, before it is too late. This other outlaw must be captured. If he gets away, my last hope is gone. There is a deep mystery about this affair, which I can't explain now. You will know all about it in good time. This man must be captured. You don't know how important it is to me. Won't one of you fellows come with me? We can easily follow the footprints through the snow."

Val paused, quite out of breath, and waited a reply.

His strange words and the vehemence of his speech and manner considerably mystified Curt and Toke, and they stared at their excited companion in silence.

"Quick!" cried Val. "Every minute that slips away is precious. Which of you will go with me?"

"Not so fast, Val," said Curt, slowly, as he wrapped a strip of handkerchief about Dykart's lacerated wrist. "We'll do anything in reason to help you; but the plan you propose now won't hold water. In the first place, it is so dark that the trail of this fellow would be lost almost immediately; and, in the second place, two of us would hardly be a match for such a desperate man, even if we did overtake him, and then—"

"But his gun is out of order, and yours are in good condition," interrupted Val.

"He may have revolvers," continued Curt, quietly. "No; your best plan is this: Take my snowshoes and accompany Toke to Kessler's cabin. You will find Peter Bowles and Torpetus there. Bring them all back with you, without delay. Kessler and Peter Bowles can take this wounded man to the cabin, and then Toke and I and the trapper-will pursue the escaped convict with you. With the aid of torches and Rolf we will speedily overhaul him, unless he goes straight to Crag Island, and in that event his capture is only a question of time. What do you say?"

"I say that you're right," admitted Val, frankly. "Rolf's assistance will more than make up for the loss of time. The hound will be sure to run the fellow down. I didn't think about the darkness. I see now that we couldn't have followed the trail long. Give me the snowshoes, quick, and we'll start at once."

CHAPTER XXVII

The transfer was quickly made, and after repeated promises to hurry back and to bring with them torches and some sort of a litter, Toke and Val started for Kessler's cabin, leaving Curt to keep his lonely vigil over the wounded outlaw.

The boy's duties were as much those of a guard as of a nurse, and he kept a close watch over Dykart, fearing that his injuries were not severe enough to prevent him from attempting to escape.

The dead panther lay stiff and rigid where he had fallen in his death-struggle, an ugly blot on the white snow.

The darkness was somewhat of an impediment to Toke and Val, but the former knew his bearings and confidently led the way.

"Won't Torpetus be surprised to see you?" he said, to his companion. "He made Curt and me go around by Long Pond, to see if we could discover anything, but he didn't anticipate such a streak of luck as this. Everything was quiet at the pond—not a sign of life."

"There are only two men left on the island," said Val, "and they are very careful not to make any fire in the daytime."

Conversation made the time seem shorter, but it was, nevertheless, a good three miles to Kessler's cabin.

More by chance than by any skill on Toke's part, the boys blundered on the clearing, and when they saw the light twinkling from the door and windows of the cabin they set up a shout that was speedily answered from within.

Kessler and the trapper advanced as far as the gate to meet the new arrivals, and their entry into the house together was the signal for a series of surprises all around.

The boys were amazed to see the five strangers, and, after Val had been successively embraced by the trapper and Peter Bowles, he mystified his companions by shaking hands warmly with Captain Barm, and whispering a few sentences which caused that officer to open his eyes wide with amazement.

Kessler restored order by banging his fist on the table; and then Toke briefly related the part he and Curt had taken in the afternoon's adventure.

It was Val's turn next, and the audience were held spellbound spellbound as the young schoolmaster related his experiences of the past few days, revealing the secret of Crag Island and the existence of the gang of counterfeiters, and telling of his subsequent chain of thrilling adventures which ended in the capture of Dykart.

He made no mention of the lost box, but concluded with an earnest appeal for the immediate pursuit of Riderhood.

Val's amazing story caused great excitement. Everyone tried to talk at once, and it was some time before order could be restored. The boys had explained the situation so clearly that there was no hesitation or dispute as to what course of action should be adopted.

"The first thing is to push on to the relief of Curt Blake," suggested Kessler. "He's a mighty brave chap, to stay there alone and keep watch over that wounded desperado."

"Yes," assented Captain Bram, "that's the first step. Then we will follow the trail of the convict, Riderhood, and his speedy capture is certain."

Here the captain glanced significantly at Val.

"The next step," he resumed, "will be an advance on Crag Island. We must devise some way to reach it, and arrest these two remaining criminals before they take alarm and abandon their den. It is my belief that we can accomplish all this in one night if we start without delay."

The officer's suggestions met with general approval, and the needed preparations for departure were begun immediately. Kessler took one of Captain Bram's men for a guide, and went after the sleigh, which was not more than a half-mile away.

His knowledge of the forest enabled him to drive the team clear to the cabin, and the horses were soon occupying snug quarters in the little stable.

Meanwhile the others had donned their greatcoats, filled their pockets with bread and meat, and carefully inspected their weapons.

The trapper wanted Toke and Val to remain at the cabin, insisting that they were too weary for such a long tramp; but the boys strenuously objected, and the question was dropped when Captain Bram interposed in their behalf.

All being ready, the party of ten filed away into the woods on a brisk walk. Kessler and Captain Bram took the lead, the former bearing a lighted lantern. The trapper and Peter Bowles each carried a bunch of resinous torches, while two of the captain's men bore on their shoulders a big wooden shutter, which Isaac Kessler had obligingly removed from the rear window of his cabin. This was to serve as a stretcher for the wounded outlaw.

By following the footprints made by Toke and Val, all risk of losing the way was avoided, and in considerably less than an hour the party reached their destination, greatly to Curt's relief, who was growing alarmed at their tardiness.

The brave boy was sitting on a log beside his prisoner, rifle in hand. Dykart was suffering a great deal of pain, but his features became distorted with rage and fear when he recognized the officers of the law by their blue uniforms.

Questioning failed to open his lips. He glared defiantly at his captors, but would have nothing to say.

The dead panther attracted no little attention, and Torpetus expressed the opinion that it was the same beast which had caused so much trouble in the neighborhood of White Deer Pond.

The delay was brief. At Kessler's suggestion, Dykart was placed on the shutter and carried to the rude cabin on the marsh, which was a short distance away.

It turned out that Kessler was the owner of the cabin. He occupied it occasionally, to watch for deer at the salt licks.

As it would require four men to convey the prisoner to Kessler's house—a greater number than could be spared—it was decided to leave him at the cabin until the party returned. Two of Captain Bram's men were detailed to guard him.

"His life ain't in any danger," said Kessler, "and his wounds don't need any more dressin' at present. I couldn't have fixed them up better myself."

This praise made Curt blush, and he was glad to occupy himself in building a fire in one corner of the cabin, which was constructed for that purpose.

When all was in snug order, Dykart and his guards were left to themselves, and Val led the rest of the party back to the little pool, where Riderhood's trail was at once found and followed up the slope of the, hill. None observed the convict's brief stoppage at the boulder, except possibly Captain Bram.

The trapper's hound readily understood what was required of him, and followed the scent so accurately that the men were not obliged to seek out the footprints with their torches.

Kessler and Torpetus were confident that Riderhood would go straight to Crag Island, and this opinion was shared by all except Val and Captain Bram.

"The rascal has no intention of going to the island," said the latter, with a meaning glance at Val; "mark my word on that."

The others shrugged their shoulders, not being in the secret, but in a short time their opinions veered round to the captain's way of thinking. The trail led over the hill, and then described a wide half circle, which brought it back to the edge of the little stream that flowed out of the marsh. Here the scent was lost, showing conclusively that Riderhood had started to wade, in the hope of baffling pursuit.

The party now divided and followed the course of the stream on opposite banks. The footprints of the two outlaws, made on the previous day, added difficulty to the search, but no pains were spared in keeping a sharp lookout for fresh tracks.

After following the course of the rivulet for more than two miles, the patience of the searchers was rewarded.

Apparently recent footprints were discovered leading from the water's edge in a westerly direction, and as all were satisfied that this was really Riderhood's trail, they started eagerly to follow it.

The chase proved long and wearisome, for it was necessary to move on a brisk trot to prevent being outdistanced by Rolf. Even the trapper's stern commands could scarcely restrain the ardor of the hound.

It soon became evident that Riderhood had lost his bearings, and was moving in an aimless, uncertain way.

The footprints diverged to right and left, occasionally doubling on themselves, but their general trend was to the southwest. Here and there the trampled snow showed that the convict had paused to rest, and such, places were closely scrutinized by Val and Captain Bram.

The latter seemed to be thoroughly familiar with the neighborhood.

"It's my opinion," he said, "that Riderhood is heading for Kitchen Creek, with the intention of following that stream down to its junction with the river."

What followed seemed to bear out the captain's surmise, for the trail kept on in the same general direction.

Shortly after midnight, when fully half a dozen miles had been covered since leaving the rivulet, Rolf sprang forward with a sullen snarl, and paused before a clump of huge gray boulders.

"Rolf sprang forward with a sullen snarl, and paused before a clump of huge gray boulders."

The men came quickly to the spot, and as Kessler's torch revealed the footprits leading in among the rocks, they lowered their rifles and glanced ominously at one another.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Rolf's stiffening hair and low, sullen growls indicated plainer than words that the end of the trail had been reached, and, after a brief hesitation, Kessler and Captain 13 mm circled around the first boulder, the former flashing his torch overhead, and the hitter holding his rifle in readiness for quick use.

But stern measures were not needed. As they reached the other side of the boulder, Riderhood rose up from a snug crevice under the rock, drowsily rubbing his eyes. His dazed expression showed that he had been sleeping.

Kessler and the officer quickly secured the stupefied convict, and with the assistance of the others, who now came swarming to the spot, they tightly bound his arms behind his back.

Val's keen eyes discerned something glittering under the rock, and, stooping down, he drew out a big, square, tin box, rusty and weather-beaten.

"At last!", he cried, triumphantly—" at last I have it!"

Captain Brain whispered a few words in Val's ear, and took possession of the box, which appeared to be exceedingly heavy.

"The mystery connected with this will be explained later," he said to the others, who were looking on in amazement. "This is not a fit time. We have more work ahead of us."

Then the officer turned to Riderhood, who was thoroughly awake to his situation by this time.

"I have you at last, Gabriel," he said, "and the booty as well. It was fortunate for me that you stopped to take a nap."

The convict made no reply, but the expression of his face as he glared from one to the others of his captors was ferocious beyond description. The most malignant of his glances were directed at Val, whom he no doubt blamed for his capture.

"Evil looks won't avail you any, Riderhood," said Captain Bram. "You may as well make the best of it, for back to the penitentiary you go. I hope it will be a satisfaction to you to reflect that the shadow of crime will now be lifted from those who have borne it so long undeservingly."

Riderhood's reply was a scowl of mingled rage and hate.

The officer turned to Kessler.

"Where are we?" he asked. "Within any reasonable distance of Crag Island?"

"It ain't more'n a mile away," was the response. "I know this spot well, and, onless I'm greatly mistaken, Kitchen Creek, lies right out yonder about twenty yards."

"Then let us start at once," said Captain Bram. "I want to make a clean haul, if I can. I had no idea, when I came into this part of the country, that I was going to capture a gang of counterfeiters."

The trapper and Peter Bowles took charge of the prisoner, and then the party moved on again under Kessler's guidance.

The latter's prediction proved correct, for in a short time the bank of Kitchen Creek was reached.

From this point the course was northward, and, after traveling less than a mile, the party came to the eastern shore of Long Pond.

After pushing on for a short distance, they discovered the trail made by Riderhood and Dykart twenty-four hours before, when they crossed the pond in pursuit of Val.

A halt was made here to consider the difficult object that Captain Bram had in view. Kessler and Torpetus, who knew well the impossibility of gaining access to the island, explained the situation to the officer and his men, and advised them to wait until a boat could be procured.

The captain objected to delay, and, while he was vainly trying to devise some way of surmounting the difficulty, Val came to his relief with a startling suggestion.

"I believe we will find the boat that belongs to these men over there on the brink of the open channel," he said. "It all depends on whether Riderhood and Dykart left the island alone that night or whether one of their companions landed them on the ice and took the boat back. It's worth looking into anyhow. What a joke it would be if those two rascals over there were shut up in their own trap!"

All agreed that the matter was indeed worth "looking into," and after vainly trying to extort the desired information from Riderhood, they tied a handkerchief over his mouth, to prevent his giving an untimely alarm, and started silently across the ice toward the great stone dome that loomed faintly out of the darkness.

The footprints led directly to the open channel, a few yards below the island, and as the men drew near to the black water every heart throbbed with excitement.

Kessler's far-seeing eyes discovered a black object on the brink of the ice. He communicated the discovery to his companions, and they broke into a run.

Faster and faster they ran. They reached the spot and gathered eagerly about—an upturned boat!

Kessler put out his torch in the snow—for Crag Island was very close at hand—and Val whispered, excitedly :

"I knew it. The rascals are caught in their own trap. All we need do is to paddle the boat through the secret entrance into the cavern. Tucker and Swartman will think their friends are returning, and we can capture them before they know what's the matter."

Val was made to repeat his plan more in detail, and Captain Brain nodded approval.

"That will do," he said, briefly. "Everything is in our favor."

Arrangements were speedily made. It was decided that the officer's two men should remain behind with the prisoner and the tin box, while the rest made the assault on the island.

Seven was a pretty heavy load for the boat, but Val's presence was necessary, and Toke and Curt begged so hard to go along that none could refuse them.

As for Kessler and the trapper and Peter Bowles, they simply had no intention of remaining behind.

The boat was pushed silently into the water, and one by one the men entered it. Kessler came last, with the paddle which he had found on the ice, and his vigorous strokes speedily sent the ungainly craft up the channel toward Crag Island, watched in its course by Riderhood and his guards.

Val and Captain Bram were in the front end, and by following the former's directions Kessler brought the boat alongside the island, directly in front of the clump of bushes.

This was the critical moment. All crouched low as the boat entered the almost invisible passage between the rocks. The harsh, grating noise lasted for a little while, and then ceased abruptly.

The soft ripple of the water showed that the boat was fairly inside the cavern, and when its occupants ventured to sit upright and peer ahead through the darkness, they saw a faint red glimmer reflected on the rocks.

"It's all right," whispered Val, as the boat struck the gravel bar. "They must be sleep-ins, or they would have heard us by this time."

The little party noiselessly disembarked, and moved up the rugged path, guided by the red glow that shone round an angle ahead.

Every man had his weapon ready in case of an emergency. A curve in the path suddenly revealed the interior of the shed. In the far corner lay two sleeping figures, huddled close to the embers of a wood fire.

The attacking party advanced quickly, and when Captain Brain's stern command to surrender roused the two desperadoes from their fancied security, they stared helplessly into a bunch of rifles.

Resistance was out of the question, and the bewildered men were soon tightly bound.

The hollowed interior of the island proved a great attraction to all, and it was examined with much curiosity. Then every nook and corner of the counterfeiters' retreat was thoroughly searched, and Captain Brain was overjoyed to find all the evidence he needed in the shape of moulds and spurious coin, while the trapper rejoiced in the discovery of the property stolen from the cabin.

Considerable time was taken up in these researches, and it was finally decided to leave everything behind, except the evidence of the counterfeiting, until a second visit could be made.

It required two trips to convey the entire party back to the edge of the channel. The boat was pulled out on the ice, and, just as dawn was turning the eastern horizon gray, the homeward march was begun. The jubilant faces of Captain Bram and his companions were in strong contrast to the hopeless, sullen expressions of the three prisoners.

The officer had good cause to he satisfied, for the entire gang of lawbreakers had fallen into his hands almost one stroke, and that, too, without fighting.

The march through the snow was necessarily slow and wearisome, for the prisoners had to be fairly dragged along.

About ten o'clock in the morning the cabin on the marsh was reached. Here a brief delay ensued, and then the entire party moved on.

Four men bore Dykart on the shutter, and Kessler and Torpetus carried between them the stiffened body of the panther, for they were determined that Curt should have the skin, as a memento of his prowess.

It was a glad moment when Kessler's cabin came in sight, through a gap in the forest. On reaching the clearing, all were surprised to see a double sleigh with two black horses hitched to the fence.

"That's Squire Petit's team, onless I'm greatly mistaken!" exclaimed Kessler. "And I reckon the squire's inside the house, by the way the smoke pours out o' my chimney."

Kessler led the way through the yard and up the porch, and then the whole party trooped noisily into the house.

CHAPTER XXIX

Kessler's prediction proved true. Squire Petit was standing by the table, and behind him, in a chair by the fire-place sat a stranger—a refined, gentlemanly man, with a brown beard thickly streaked with gray, and a deeply-marked expression of sadness.

Val entered the room directly behind Kessler. He shook hands warmly with the squire, and then, with a sudden flush on his cheeks, he sprang forward and threw his arms about the stranger at the fireplace, who had risen tremblingly to his feet.

"Father—father!" he cried, joyously. "Is it really you? I have found the box! See? There it is! And Riderhood is captured! They are just bringing him in now!"

At this point Captain Bram advanced and held out his hand.

"I must congratulate you, Mr. Medwin," he said, warmly. "By the aid of your brave son, Riderhood has been arrested and the box recovered—no doubt, with its contents intact. We shall see in a short time."

Mr. Medwin tried to speak, but his voice failed him, and he could only glance with tear-dimmed eyes from Val to the officer.

The above, episode had scarcely been noticed by the others. Torpetus and Kessler were eagerly giving Squire Petit an account of all that had happened during the past few weeks, and the officer's men were conducting their prisoners to the rear room.

Mr. Medwin turned pale as Riderhood was led past him. Their eyes met for an instant, and then the convict was roughly forced through the door.

In a short time some semblance of order was restored. The prisoners, with the exception of Dykart, were quartered in the rear room, under strong guard. The latter was placed on a hastily improvised cot in the front apartment.

Kessler now suggested that dinner be immediately prepared, and started off to inspect his stock of supplies.

"Hold on," said Squire Petit. "There is a little matter that ought to be attended to first. I know it will give at least two people a better appetite."

He signaled to Captain Bram, and the latter placed the heavy tin box on the table.

All gathered expectantly around it—Mr. Medwin and Val, Torpetus, Peter Bowles, Kessler, the squire, two of the police and Curt and Toke.

A strong pull caused the rusty lid to come off, and Captain Bram laid the contents out on the table with a trembling hand.

Each packet was quickly seized by Mr. Medwin, who was pale with excitement.

"All here!" he exclaimed. "Thirty thousand dollars, in currency, five thousand in gold and the packet of bonds and discount paper. Their waterproof covering has protected them from injury."

Mr. Medwin restored the various packets to the box, with a look of infinite satisfaction and thankfulness.

General attention now centered on Val, whose relationship to Mr. Medwin was just beginning to be understood. All were in a state of bewilderment, realizing that some deep mystery was connected with the tin box.

Curt and Toke regarded Val with staring eyes, remembering more than one strange sentence that had fallen from his lips during the past few weeks.

Suddenly Squire Petit pushed forward to one end of the table, and turned around so as to face every one in the room. He waved his hand, and the silence became intense. All eyes were fixed upon him.

"I have a story to tell you," began the squire. "I might wait till after dinner, but I am sure you would rather hear me now.

"It is a rather long story, but it will clear up several things which are mysteries to you at present, besides showing an example of quiet heroism and endurance of trials which is but rarely encountered nowadays. Some of you will find my story partly familiar, but there will also be a great deal that is new to you."

The squire paused and glanced at Val and Mr. Medwin, who had withdrawn to a bench in the corner of the room.

"In the first place," he resumed, "the young fellow whom you have known as Valentine Stanlock is the son of Mr. Medwin yonder. Stanlock is an assumed name.

"Most of you will remember the misfortune that happened to Mr. Medwin four years ago. I will briefly recount the circumstances.

"Mr. Medwin was the cashier of a banking house at Rupert, a small town near Bloomsburg. He was highly esteemed in the community, and was fairly well off.

"A few months prior to the misfortune above alluded to a man came to Rupert, and, seeking out Mr. Medwin, begged to be given employment of some kind.

"This man had been a schoolboy companion of the banker's years before, and his name was Gabriel Riderhood. He professed to have led an honest but wandering life, and, as Mr. Medwin knew nothing to the contrary and had a sentimental regard for Riderhood on account of old times, he secured him the position of night watchman in the bank. Now see how basely Riderhood requited this kindness.

"One night in January, four years ago, he broke open the bank safe, and fled with all the available funds—a tin box containing thirty-five thousand dollars in cash and a packet of bonds and discount paper—a loss in the aggregate of nearly one hundred thousand dollars.

"Fortunately the officers of the law speedily got track of the thief. For three days they followed him through the mountains, whither he had fled for refuge, and finally they caught him on a snowy winter's night somewhere in this very locality.

"The precious box, however, was missing, and though every effort was made by Mr. Medwin and others to induce Riderhood to reveal its hiding-place, he persistently refused, and was tried, convicted and sent to the penitentiary with the secret locked in his own breast.

"And now comes the saddest part of my story. Malicious persons did not hesitate to accuse Mr. Medwin of being in collusion with Riderhood, and of knowing where the lost box was concealed.

"The rumor spread and gained ground, The disgrace killed the cashier's wife in a few months, and Mr. Medwin retired brokenhearted to a little cottage in Bloomsburg, after surrendering his entire property to the bank officials to make good the loss.

"And now for the brighter prat of my story, in which the banker's son, Valentine Medwin, plays the leading part. The boy was away at school when the blow came. He bravely faced the future, dark as it seemed, and procured a position in a store at Danville.

"He worked here for three years, having meanwhile take on the name of Stanlock, in order to avoid the unmerited shadow of disgrace, which would otherwise have clung to him and injured his prospects. During this time he constantly sent what little money he could spare to his father.

"I had always been a staunch friend of Mr. Medwin's, and by my intercession Valentine was finally given charge of the Mehoopany school. Of his life here I need not speak, for you know all about it.

"A month or two ago Gabriel Riderhood escaped from the penitentiary, and a few days later a body supposed to be his was found floating in the Delaware River.

"A paper containing an account of this came into Mr. Medwin's hands. He cut the paragraph out and sent it to his son in a letter.

"On the evening of the very day that Valentine received this letter, as he was crossing Mehoopany Creek after dark, he overheard a conversation between two men in a boat, who had pulled into the eddy of the pier to rest. Riderhood was one of the two, and Valentine quickly gleaned from the conversation that the convict had not been drowned after all, but was camping in the vicinity of Long Pond with some companions, and that his object was to find the tin box which he had hidden on the night of his arrest in some spot that had thus far eluded his search.

"Val narrowly escaped being captured by the two men, who had been to the village to purchase provisions.

"He had a long talk with me that night, and avowed his intention of going back to Long Pond and keeping a close watch on Riderhood's movements. He proposed to join two of his young friends who were going to camp out on White Deer Pond with Torpetus Macbean, and, as Long Pond was not very far away, he hoped to be able to carry out his plans.

"I gave my consent to this proposition and told Val to write to his father and acquaint him with what he proposed to do. I also promised to find a substitute for him at the school.

"The rest of my story is more familiar to the most of you than it is to me. You know what adventures Val and these plucky boys passed through. You know how Val was kidnapped by Riderhood, and how he escaped after being many times in peril of his life, and you know also how he and Riderhood discovered almost simultaneously the hiding place of the box, and how through the efforts of Val the box was finally recovered and Riderhood and his companions in crime were all captured.

"My own modest part in the story counts for little, but it is nevertheless a link in the chain, and had better be told.

"I was horrified to learn, several days ago, that Val had fallen into Riderhood's hands.

"I knew the gravity of his peril much better than did these brave men here who proposed to rescue him single-handed; so I concluded to act promptly.

"I took the first train to Bloomshurg, laid the matter before the police, and sent Captain Bram and his men to Mehoopany at once, giving them careful instructions about finding White Deer Pond. Then I went to see Mr. Medwin, and he insisted upon coming back with me.

"We reached Mehoopany last evening, and started for White Deer Pond at daybreak this morning. The sleigh tracks of Captain Bram's party were plainly visible, and I soon discovered that they had taken the wrong road.

"I decided that it was best to follow them, and consequently we reached here shortly before your return, and in time to participate in your complete triumph.

"I want to thank you all for what you have done. The recovery of the box lifts the shadow of disgrace that Mr. Medwin has borne unjustly through four long years, and restores him to a position of affluence. Nor will it detract from your satisfaction to know that this result has been mainly brought about by the courage and devotion of Valentine. It is he who deserves the credit."

With this, the squire brought his story to close, and then sat down, quite out of breath.

A brief pause followed, and then every one crowded about Val and his father, eager to clasp their hands and congratulate them. Mr. Medwin tried to make a short speech, but broke down; and then Val tried it with the same result.

Isaac Kessler finally came to the rescue with a second proposition to have dinner, and every one, assisted in its preparation.

There was fortunately a good supply of food left in the cabin, despite the recent inroads, and soon a happy company were satisfying their hunger about the well-filled table.

Nor were the unhappy prisoners forgotten, for their guards saw to it that they had as much as they could eat.

Rolf was provided with a platter of bones, and, in honor of the occasion, he was permitted to gnaw them in a corner of the fireplace.

CHAPTER XXX

And now comes that inevitable portion of every story—the end.

The dinner in Isaac Kessler's cabin was a fitting wind-up to the recent stirring events in which all present had played a more or less prominent part.

It was so late in the afternoon when the guests rose from the table that the journey to Mehoopany was postponed by unanimous consent until the following day.

By the aid of blankets and bundles of straw brought in from the stable all obtained a good night's rest, except the guards who kept vigilant watch over the prisoners.

Early the next morning, Captain Bram, Squire Petit, Mr. Medwin and Val started for the village, taking with them the precious tin box and the four prisoners, for, owing to Kessler's good care, Dykart was able to be moved.

Warm farewells were exchanged with those left behind, and shortly after the two sleighs disappeared in the forest.

Torpetus started for White Deer Pond, accompanied by Curt and Toke and Peter Bowles. The latter was once more on friendly terms with the trapper.

Great was the excitement in Mehoopany when the two sleighs arrived there about noon that day. The amazing news spread rapidly, and those of the villagers who had always insisted on some mystery in connection with Val Stanlock were now in their glory.

All Mehoopany crossed the river to see the party off, and, when the train pulled out of the station, the assembled crowd cheered loudly, and Val and Mr. Medwin waved their hats from the rear car.

Captain Bram remained in Bloomsburg only long enough to see his prisoners safely locked up. He was back in Mehoopany that same evening, and the next morning he started for White Deer Pond accompanied by Squire Petit.

They made the journey in a large sleigh, and at the cabin they were joined by Torpetus and Peter Bowles and the two boys.

Then the whole party pushed on to Long Pond, and managed to get within four miles of it in the sleigh.

They walked the remaining distance, and thoroughly ransacked Crag Island. The trapper took his share of the plunder back to the cabin, while Captain Bram returned to Bloomsburg with the entire outfit and possessions of the counterfeiters, which he wished to have on hand for the trial.

After this, things settled down to their normal condition, both at Mehoopany and White Deer Pond. The trapper resumed his work at blazing trees, and Curt and Toke ran the traps—with but indifferent success, however—and did a little studying in the evenings.

One day, Isaac Kessler brought over the panther-skin, which he had nicely dressed, and presented it to Curt.

There was no doubt in the latter's mind about this being the same beast that caused so much trouble in the vicinity of the pond, for when Curt and Toke visited the terraced hill beyond Red Rock Marsh, to hunt the former's lost gun—which, by-the-way, they recovered—they ventured to peep into the den among the rocks, and found it empty, with no trace of recent occupancy.

Meanwhile, the course of justice had been swiftly carried out. Riderhood was returned to the penitentiary to serve the remaining years or his long sentence, and the three counterfeiters were taken to Philadelphia, where the United States Court quickly tried and convicted them, mainly through the evidence of Captain Bram and his men.

The shadow of disgrace lifted from Mr. Medwin. He was overwhelmed with congratulations and well-wishes, and the bank officials tendered him his former position. But Mr. Medwin refused this. His health was too precarious to permit him to engage in business, and, as he was now fairly well off again, he purchased a home in Bloomsburg, intending to settle down there.

The story of Val's heroism, as people chose to regard it, was on every one's lips; but Val was not spoiled by his altered circumstances.

His first thought was of the companions who had shared his trials and contributed so much to his success. Mr. Medwin was equally grateful, and father and son paid a visit to Mehoopany a few days after Curt and Toke returned from the woods, saddened by their ill-success at trapping, and with the prospect of an education as far distant as ever.

But the arrival of these two visitors speedily cleared away the clouds. Mr. Medwin insisted upon paying the expenses of Curt and Toke at the Bloomsburg Academy for the course of two years, and, with the acquiescence of Mr. Blake and Mr. Foster, the matter was satisfactorily arranged.

Curt and Toke were not the only ones remembered. Val presented a splendid repeating rifle to Torpetus Macbean, and a double-barreled shotgun to Peter Bowles and Isaac Kessler respectively. The latter's present was sent to him by a special messenger.

With the opening of the spring term, Curt and Toke began their studies at the Bloomsburg Academy, and their former friendship with Val was resumed, and kept up until the latter went away to college in the fall.

But they will doubtless see much of each other in the years to come, and whatever the future may hold in store for these three sturdy young fellows, it is certain that the rugged experiences of their youth will stand them in good stead, and that they will ever cherish the memory of those wintry days of peril and adventure in the vicinity of Long Pond, when the mystery of Valentine Stanlock and the secret of Crag Island were as yet unsolved.

THE END